


Where Catalysts Stand Down

by sphinxscribe



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe: no one makes stupid decisions by turning to the dark side, F/M, Fix-It, RotS AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-13 00:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21485542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphinxscribe/pseuds/sphinxscribe
Summary: Palpatine issues Order 66, and Anakin and Padmé flee Coruscant. RotS AU.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 50
Kudos: 311





	1. Chapter 1

The hard belly of the transport jolted, shattering the cold, skeletal hands in Anakin Skywalker's nightmare.

His eyes snapped open. His breaths came raspy and loud in the silence.

Quiet had long fallen on the transport's inhabitants. The rest of the transport's refugees slept in curfew's dimness, on beds of fishnets and foodstuff sacks. A fluorescent light's shone a sickly gray pallor over the cupping metal walls.

Artoo's light switched from red to blue. Anakin moved his hands over his face to try to calm himself. Dead younglings again. Would he ever stop seeing dead younglings?

Artoo cooed mournfully.

Ignoring how his heart beat in his throat, Anakin sat up from the makeshift bed of fabrics. He needed to wake fully, to make sure reality separated itself from his dream. He needed to scrub the memories of that day from his mind.

The transport lurched again beneath him. Sometimes, the transport felt like a great coffin. Around him, the other refugees didn't stir, and in the dim light, Threepio's shining limbs hung limp.

Anakin worked to calm his breathing. "Go back to sleep, Artoo," he murmured to the astromech. "I'm alright."

Artoo's dome head turned. Anakin could hear the mechanical whirring inside.

Perhaps it felt like a great coffin because it might well be one. He and Padmé had been through so many Imperial outposts and security measures over the past three weeks. It had been three long weeks of traveling since… _that night_. And clonetroopers still followed them in the spaceports.

He felt Padmé shift beside him, likely from the chill of his absence.

"Anakin?" she murmured.

Her slender hand, pale in the dim, touched his thigh. She worried about him and his nightmares—he knew it. He leaned back on one elbow to kiss her temple, and watched her brown eyelashes flutter closed.

Her brown curls fanned their pillow of clothing sacks, smelling faintly of fruity shampoo, and Anakin brushed them aside so he could lie back down in her warmth. How long ago it seemed that they had been in 500 Republica. How long ago that he had parted from Obi-Wan—

Nausea gripped his stomach, and he pushed the painful memory from his mind.

Instead, he wound his arm around Padmé, and her refugee clothes itched against his bare skin as his hand found its way to her swollen belly. There, where the fabrics had pulled tight to accommodate the growing child within, Anakin somehow always found comfort. His grounding, perhaps. It reminded him that he still had something to fight for.

* * *

Their transport docked in Mos Espa, Tatooine, a week later.

Blinking back the glare from the twin suns, Anakin slung their sacks of clothing over his shoulders as he stepped off of the ship's ledge.

The spaceport bustled around them—a flurry of languages and colorful fabrics and the faint smell of imported shuura fruit. He held his hand out for Padmé, and she took it, holding her belly as she stepped down. The droids followed behind, Threepio chattering about the dryness in his joints and Artoo squawking impudent replies.

"Is there a registration station?" Padmé said, brushing back the scarf on her head. They drew a few feet in front of the droids to keep from Threepio's prattling questions.

"I haven't seen one."

She squinted at the blue sky above them. "It's… warmer than I remembered."

Anakin didn't bother to remind her that Tatooine had yet a month before winter's end. Amongst the smell of pallie fruits and the moans of lumbering banthas, a flurry of memories from his childhood had returned to him. He could already taste the sand in his teeth…

"Do you think they have our holograms?"

He hoped they didn't, or they'd have to switch transports and planets again. "I don't know."

He glimpsed a flash of white, and his head snapped around to see four clonetroopers rounding one of the nearby clay huts, heading towards the transport with blasters in their hands. Anakin's heart picked up, and he felt through the fabric at his waist for his familiar hilt, just to touch it, make sure it was still here…

"Come on," Padmé whispered, pulling at his elbow.

It'd been their fault. They had gunned down thousands of Jedi knights in one day. Anakin could still see the scorch marks on the Jedi tabards, the empty eyes, the limp hands, the abandoned lightsabers… All of the Jedi. Obi-Wan.

His stomach twisted inside of them. His throat tightened. They were here too, even on Hutt-controlled Tatooine. He wanted to get them as far away from his family as possible.

"It's the chip inside of them," Padmé said. "Please, Anakin."

Her grasp tightened, and Anakin allowed her to lead him away. The clones disappeared into the landing platforms' crowds.

"We need room for two," Padmé said to one of the docking attendants when they were certain that the clone troopers had left their area. "Do you know where we can go?"

The Rodian looked up from counting credits, his toothpick paused between his lips. "_Sie batha ne beechee_?" _You talking to me?_

"We—" Padmé withdrew a bit as the Rodian leaned toward her. "We're looking for an inn—"

The Rodian made a coughing noise. "_Ootmian_! Huh. _Stoopa_."

Threepio toddled up to them, Artoo at his heels. "Oh, _my_," he said, at what Anakin knew were the Rodian's insults. "How rude. Master An—"

"Threepio," Anakin said sharply. The last thing they needed were their names tossed around here. "That's enough."

He turned back to the Rodian with a glare. "_Dopa na rocka rocka, sleemo_?" he said, knowing that the native wouldn't treat them honestly if they looked liked offworlders. "_Kava nopees do bampa woola_?" _Does this cause brain damage, idiot? How much for a room for the night?_

The Rodian straightened. "_Duhonocha_," he answered, eyeing the sacks on Anakin's shoulder. _Twenty-four coins_. "It's right past the market."

Anakin didn't bother to thank him. He could feel the Rodian's beady eyes follow them as they turned towards where the colorful canopies peeked above the stucco domes. Threepio and Artoo followed, Threepio seeming distinctly ruffled.

"Better watch out," the Rodian called after them. "The Hutts have made a bargain with this new Empire. You can't get in without documentation now. The troopers are on all our tails."

The sick feeling deepened in Anakin's gut. Padmé glanced up at him, her brows furrowed. They trekked along the sandy path to the market, and her hand found his hand and squeezed it.

* * *

The clone trooper seated at the table glanced up. CT-3289, read his identification tag. "Surname Taa?"

Padmé nodded. "That's right."

"You just arrived on Tatooine."

"Right."

"Where from?"

Padmé set her hand on her belly. "Alderaan."

CT-3289 shifted through the papers on his table. "No transports from Alderaan today."

"We transferred halfway through," Padmé said. "Hyperdrive troubles."

"You have no papers from your homeworld?"

"We weren't registered there. …We lived up in the mountains."

CT-3289 shifted through more papers, and Padmé took the quiet moment to squeeze Anakin's hand. One of the clones standing behind the table had fixed his eyes on the Jedi when they had first arrived at the documentation center, and hadn't shifted his gaze since. Anakin could feel his eyes continuously on his neck.

The clone behind CT-3289 nodded towards Anakin, but looked at Padmé. "Does he speak?"

"Of course," Padmé said.

"He looks familiar," he said.

"Coincidence, perhaps," Padmé said. "We don't encounter the Republic's soldiers often."

"The _Empire_," corrected CT-3289.

"My apologies," Padmé said.

CT-3289 shifted through more papers. "We will have to document your family for three."

Padmé's hand felt clammy in Anakin's. "Why?"

The helmet looked up. "So his Majesty the Emperor has records for a census."

"Why are we being put down for three?"

"Your child." CT-3289 motioned to Padmé's belly. "It's due soon."

Padmé's hand moved over the curve. "Can't we register when the birth comes?"

"New orders from the Emperor. Besides, the folks never usually come back. The child dies half the time."

Anakin felt his stomach clench, his throat close. CT-3289 busied himself by marking some details on his holopad. When the helmet looked up again, Anakin forced his expression to remain steady.

"We'll have to register your droids too," he said as a side note, nodding to where Threepio and Artoo waited in the doorway on Padmé's instructions.

Padmé nodded agreement.

"Any criminal activities?"

"No," Padmé said.

"Any past incitements? Prison time? Traffic fines?"

"No."

"What's your reason for coming to Tatooine?" the clone behind the table interrupted. He watched them carefully, arms folded across his armor.

"Expenses," Padmé said. "Living out here is less expensive."

"It's not as conducive to raise a family."

"We don't plan to stay for long."

The clone didn't reply to that, but his gaze didn't leave Anakin as CT-3289 continued to make notes on his holopad.

"Do you have any affiliation with Jedi?"

Anakin felt his blood drain from his face. The breeze felt suddenly cold though the suns beat down on them.

"No," Padmé said.

CT-3289 stamped and handed them the papers, and they turned to exit the documentation center.

The clone behind the table watched them go.

* * *

"I thought you said they wouldn't find us here," Anakin said under his breath as he shut the inn's door behind them.

The inn's room didn't have much space; it looked more like a hallway or a closet than a living area. A small washbasin sat just behind the door, and a cot that couldn't have been meant for two had been pushed against the far wall.

Behind them, Artoo twittered dubiously. Threepio said, "_Oh_, my. It's rather small."

"They're not going to find us," Padmé said.

Anakin had less faith. "They might."

"Palpatine knows you would never come back here."

"He knows—he _must_ know you're with me."

"Believe me," Padmé said as she reached for the bags on Anakin's shoulders. He allowed her to guide them to the floor. "The clones were just following orders. It's standard procedure."

"Why would the clones be under orders to document pregnancies?" Anakin said. Beside him, Padmé reached into the bags and pulled out the last of their rations. "Palpatine must know. Somehow he found out—he'll kill us like the rest of the Jedi—"

"Anakin, please," Padmé said. "We're not the only young couple with a baby on the way. There're bound to be others out there who are travelling like us. If he is tracking each one, Palpatine will have thousands to sort through—millions, maybe."

"Not if the clones have our holos."

"They don't."

"How can you be sure?"

Padmé paused in her rummaging. She straightened, and slowly moved into his chest. Her fingers nudged his chin up.

"We're going to be okay," she said, her eyes soft. Her hands smoothed the curls behind his ears. "We're safe here for the time being."

"Palpatine knows."

"He doesn't—he can't—"

Padmé didn't understand. She didn't understand how close Anakin had been to pledging himself to him. So close, so close…

"Anakin."

"Padmé, if he finds us—"

"He's not going to find us."

"If he finds us," Anakin said again. "I—I need you to leave me and take the baby—"

Padmé withdrew from his arms. "No—"

"Please. Please, leave me so the baby has one parent—"

"Stop talking like that," she said sharply. "I hate it when you talk like that."

"If it happens—"

"It's _not going to happen_," she snapped. "Stop talking like it is."

"But if it does—"

"Stop it." She glared at him. "Stop it, Anakin."

They both fell into silence, and she angrily turned her back to finish unpacking. He knew she needed a little while to cool down, so he retreated a distance to ready their water.

"Come on, Artoo," he murmured, and the two headed out.

* * *

Their first night in Mos Espa settled thick and hot on them. Anakin had opened their only window a few hours before, but under the moonlight he could see sweat glistening on Padmé's brow. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling.

"Can't sleep," she murmured. She had rolled up her tunic, and he had long removed his shirt. They lay so close on the cot that he felt heat waves pulsing from their touch. "Isn't it supposed to get colder at night?"

"A heatwave."

Padmé sighed.

Just out of their window, the nightbugs chirped. His mother had once told him that counting the chirps would tell one when the next sandstorm would arrive.

"The baby's kicking."

He rolled his head to look at her. Her fingers ghosted over her exposed stomach, and he could see her pebbled skin bulging with their child's kicks. He wondered if this served as her apology for their earlier argument.

"Here," she said, taking his hand and guiding it to a spot just bellow her bellybutton. He could feel the pulse on his fingertips. Once, twice, four times. A firm pulse, too.

The child would be strong in the Force. Its signature—a warm, fuzzy blur not yet quite distinct—brushed past his mind, and though he knew he should be excited, suddenly all he could remember was the darkness of Palpatine's touch. The child's potential scared him.

Padmé's eyes looked dreamy as she held his hand there. He hated to ruin the moment, but the sinking feeling in his stomach wouldn't let the worry drop.

"Padmé…"

"If this is about before," she said, her gaze still on their hands, "I hope you understand… I want us to stay together."

"But if he finds us—I just want the baby… the baby needs to be safe."

Padmé didn't look at him.

"If it happens…"

"I know." Her finger tapped his. "I don't want to live in fear."

"I don't know if we'll ever have peace."

Padmé watched Anakin move his hand along her stomach. "I know."

Her brown eyes finally met his, and a mutual resignation passed between them. Their lives might never be the same, but at least they could create a secure world for their child.

With a soft sigh, she turned over, wriggling as close as she could to him. He felt the heat of her skin as she curled up to his chest, and he breathed in the fruity smell of her hair. Slow and steady. Slow and steady.

Her belly pressed against his stomach, and he thought he could feel a few last kicks.

"Let's not worry," she said to his shoulder. "Not until we see warning signs."

"Okay."

"In the meantime, we'll find a house somewhere safe, find a midwife, prepare for this baby… We're going to take one thing at a time."

"Okay."

Padmé pressed a slow kiss to his neck. Anakin held her close, and he stared up at the ceiling.

Outside, the nightbugs chirped. In the documentation center across the town, CT-3289 received a call from Coruscant.

* * *

Less than a week later, Anakin found a house in the south district.

The place didn't have much space, and the previous owner had moved out with the place dark and dirty, but he knew they couldn't afford much else. Padmé's senatorial dresses had gathered them some credits way back from Tholatan, but most of it had already been used up on foodstuff.

Stucco walls and a rusted metal door greeted them upon arrival, and inside, corner piles of sand and dust shifted in the breeze. Anakin couldn't find any lights, and the small, grimy window by the door didn't let in much sun. A small cot had been wedged in what might have been the bedroom.

"I guess that's our bed," Anakin murmured to her. Less than half the size of their bed at 500 Republica had been, and covered in rags that they knew they'd have to change and check for bugs, it didn't look like much. "I can sleep on the floor for now."

"We can fit," she said. "We'll sleep tightly."

A kitchenette sat in the next room—a counter, a stove, and some other appliances—then a small sitting area, and a tiny closet that Anakin assumed was the fresher. On closer look, he found a washbasin and a drain. Black goo coated the drain's rim that he hoped wasn't dangerous.

Their first week passed. Sand got into their food, their bed, their clothes, and somehow found its way into their appliances as well, so the metal wore and squealed when moved and nothing cooked all the way through—not that Anakin or Padmé could cook in the first place, anyway.

Neither figured out how to work the water filtering system, so they ended up having to take water from the sink, tinted brown and tasting coppery. Their fresher drain continually oozed black liquid, even after being wiped with a cloth. Neither could wash their clothes due to a malfunctioning machine and the aforementioned water shortage, so for the length of the week they wore the same clothes they had brought aboard the transport—itchy and already too small for Padmé's growing midsection.

Then Anakin felt the constant stress of having to find a job with the baby's due date drawing near. They could barely support themselves; how were they supposed to support an infant as well?

A week later, their frustrations culminated when Anakin took out yet another burnt half-pound of banta meat from their oven.

"You're not even trying!" Padmé said.

"I _am_ trying," Anakin said. "Do you think I'm burning it on purpose?"

"You _said_ you could cook bantha," she said. "This is the third time you've burnt it since we've arrived in this blasted place—"

"If you can cook it better, you try," he said. "You've never cooked anything in your life—"

"I have!" she snapped, a vein growing larger in her neck.

Anakin slapped the slab onto the counter, and the smell of burnt meat filled his nostrils. "You're used to a pampered lifestyle, Padmé, and we can't afford that here—"

"I _know_ that," she said.

"Then quit complaining and breathing down my neck-"

"We're short on funds, in case you've forgotten," she hissed, throwing a stained rag beside the meat. "Am I not supposed to notice that? We can't _afford_ to do this any longer, _Anakin_! The baby's coming soon and I refuse to live in these conditions—"

The accusation laid on his name wound him up even further. "Then what do you want me to do about it?"

"Find work!"

"I'm trying my hardest!" he yelled. "Nobody wants a mechanic around here!"

"If that's all you're good for, we might as well starve!"

"We're_ not going to starve_!"

"We might!" Padmé's voice cracked a bit. "We _might_ if we keep this up much longer!"

"It's not my fault that we're in this situation!" Anakin stepped closer to her until he towered above her, but she didn't retreat. "As if I _asked_ for this to happen, as if I _asked_ for the Empire to wipe out the Jedi—"

"This has little to do with the Jedi," she hissed, and fire leapt in her eyes. "But it has _everything _to do with the fact that the baby is coming any day now and we don't have income or food. This is about you _finding a job to support us_."

"Don't accuse me of not trying." Anakin flung out his arms. "I'm damn-well trying, Padmé, and you know it—"

"Try harder!"

"We wouldn't even be in this situation if not for the _kriffing_ Senate. The Senators _let_ this happen, Padmé. They _kriffing_ _voted_ for it!"

"_Not all of them_," she snapped.

"They're selfish, only looking for their own gain," Anakin said. "If it weren't for them, we wouldn't have places like this hellhole to live in!"

Padmé's jaw worked in disbelief. "That's utterly ridiculous! Don't argue politics when you know nothing of the system—even if the Senate had a say, it would have no effect on wastelands like these. The Hutts have the control here, no matter what the Republic believes. Or the Empire, or whatever the _kriff_ they're calling it now."

Anakin felt his blood pulsing hot, but he knew she was speaking sense, as she usually did. Releasing his frustration through a vivid stream of Huttese curses, he seized the knife off the counter and began shaving off the scorched parts of the meat.

When he turned around a few moments later, he saw that Padmé had left. Not that he expected her to stay, anyway. He didn't know how she could bear him now that he struggled through each day.

He couldn't even provide for them. He didn't know how they'd be able to support a newborn. They didn't have any credits. He released the meat and knife and they thumped to the counter.

Perhaps she'd be better off leaving him. She'd be safe, the baby'd be safe. She could finally live in peace.

He couldn't even keep the younglings safe. He could still remember the smell of their burning bodies, see their glossy eyes in his mind…

He felt his muscles grow suddenly weak, and he slid down to the floor.

She _would_ be better off without him. It'd be better if she never met him.

Something surged in his chest. He could feel his throat swelling.

If she left him she would finally find peace. The baby would grow up in Padmé's parents' home—in a loving, comfortable environment. Without him, she wouldn't have to be dragged to the far ends of the galaxy by a man who couldn't take care of himself.

What if she was going to leave him? _Force_, what if she left him?

His stomach plummeted, and his throat continued to press in on itself. He sunk into the feeling like quicksand, and it began to suffocate him.

He couldn't live if she left him. So many people had left him. So many...

Jedi falling to the ground like flies. Lightsabers extinguishing. Blank eyes. Smashed faces. Horrible stillness and fire.

His throat closed, and he struggled to draw breath.

Clones coming in like drones, lifeless and senselessly efficient. Bodies dropping.

He rubbed his face, his throat. He couldn't breathe—

Palpatine's skeletal fingers extending. Darkness, terrible darkness. Swirling around him, intoxicating him.

Jedi dropping. Fire raging. Obi-Wan's static radio signal.

A maniac laugh. Cold creeping up his spine. _Young Skywalker._

Jedi dropping.

Younglings dropping.

Breathe—breathe—

Lifeless eyes.

Extinguishing lightsabers.

Darkness.

Obi-Wan. The Jedi were dead.

Breathe—breathe—

Hands grasped his shoulder, and Anakin jerked away from the touch.

"Ani, Ani." Padmé's hands smoothed down his tunic as he gasped for air. "You're okay. We're going to be okay."

Murmuring comfort, she held his head to her chest as he gripped her.

* * *

Anakin managed a job a week later in a junk shop, and Padmé found to get a small job sorting fruit imports. Anakin didn't particularly like the idea of her straining herself, but pregnant or not they still needed credits, and she had become restless being home alone, anyway.

Soon, between the two of them, they had enough credits to clean the house up. They bought rugs to soften the cold stone floors at night, added fresh linens to their cramped bed, and put molding on the door and in the cracks in the floor so sand wouldn't get into their food. Anakin found time to dissect the fresher drain and seal up the pipes so they wouldn't leak, and Artoo managed to repair the water filter, so they had access to clean drinking water.

Yet somehow, to Anakin, the days seemed to be darker.

Maybe it was the nightmares that plagued him each night, or his decrease in appetite, or the fact that intimacy didn't interest him anymore. He began putting all his energy into his work at the junk shop so he didn't have to think before he slept—if he did sleep at all. It became harder and harder to go about each day.

Anakin knew Padmé worried about him. He didn't tell her that he had constant anxiety about their safety and the medical technology on Tatooine. He had guilt that paralyzed him by day, and faces that paralyzed him by night. He soon lost track of the nightmares she would shake him awake from.

He knew she grew anxious when that happened. On the nights he couldn't sleep, she pulled his head into what remained of her lap and ran her fingers through his hair. He could hear her breathing and the baby's swooshing, and for a blessed moment it helped to calm the demons that plagued him.

He saw Padmé slowly growing restless on Tatooine. Her family lived far away—they probably believed she had died. And politics continued in the galaxy; Anakin heard rumors of an organized rebellion called the Alliance, of Jedi survivors. Anakin saw how it made her frustrated to hear how her friends in the Senate had begun to move against the Empire without her.

Not that she said anything aloud. In their own private miseries, they scraped through their first weeks under Tatooine's blistering suns. And each night, they sat quiet and still as clonetroopers marched through the city.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: descriptions of childbirth

Padmé paused in her work to squint against the twin suns. She had already checked one basket of shuura imports, and two more waited beside her, covered in white cloth.

"Come with us under the tent, _pateessa_," said a voice behind her, and Padmé turned to see one of the old women she worked with extending a wrinkled hand to her. She had lines on her eyes from smiling and fruit stains on her smock.

"My fruit baskets…"

"Leave them for now," Jira said. "Come get a drink. You'll get dehydrated."

Padmé took the old woman's hand and rose slowly to her feet. She felt her legs straining beneath her and felt the world around her turn a bit. Her stomach clenched, a sign that another contraction would soon be on its way. She'd been having them since the early morning, long before Anakin had left for the junk shop.

She caught Jira watching her and passed her a reassuring smile. She would be fine. It was still a long while before the child would come, and Padmé wanted to occupy herself for as long as possible.

The old women had set up a canopy a few feet away, and now a small group of four had gathered under it, chatting and skinning root peels. A jug of water sat beside one of their stools.

"Come, dear," one of them, Anabar, said when she saw Padmé approaching. She started to rise from her stool.

"No, no," Padmé said quickly. "I'm alright."

"I insist," Anabar said, her grip surprisingly strong on Padmé's arm. "I carried three of my own. But one survived, but I remember the discomfort of carrying."

Padmé could feel the instant relief as she lowered herself onto the stool, and, adjusting her smock over her swollen midsection, she passed Anabar a smile. For once, she was grateful the older woman could see through the exhaustion she tried to hide. Especially now, when it seemed each contraction left her weary.

"Thank you," she said to Anabar, and she turned to listen to the other women under the tent, massaging the growing cramp at her lower back.

"…Revolts in the northern sector and deep in southern regions," one of the women was saying to another as the two moved their knives over the fruits. Peels gathered beneath them on a large cloth. 

"It's Empire's new security law that's doing it," said the second. "Or their new documentation law. If they're not careful, Corellia will hand it to them."

Padmé looked over at them. She didn't have regular access to galactic news, especially with the Empire censoring their media, and she wondered which offworlders they had been talking to.

"I don't think they knew what they're doing. Foolish, thinking they can control the galaxy like that. I heard Senator Organa and the leaders of the Delegation were furious."

Padmé tried not to show surprise at their knowledge. Bail and the Delegation of 2000? There was something immensely comforting in the knowledge that the Empire had not completely destroyed democracy in the galaxy, as long as the Senate still stood. And, somehow, something immensely disappointing. If Bail was standing firm with the Delegation, Padmé wanted to be back in the Senate with him, arguing against Palpatine's decrees.

"They're hunting for Jedi, that's what they're doing—"

"Pallie?"

Padmé started at the voice so near her ear, and looked up to see Jira holding one of the fruits in her palm. She accepted with a grateful smile. "Thank you."

Jira patted her back and hobbled away. Padmé bit into it, and sweet juice seeped into her mouth. She had never cared for the taste, but Anakin had told her it contained all the nutrients she would need for herself and the baby. She moved it about in her hands, appreciating how it gave her something to do while she listened.

"Alderaan must be hiding Jedi," the first woman continued.

"Likely," said the other one. She brushed a few peels from her skirt.

"_I'd_ hide a few Jedi if they came to me—"

"_Shh_," said the second. "You don't know who's listening."

The first woman quieted.

"I hear talk of allied rebellion near Corellia," said Anabar. "Rebel cells. Smugglers are saying that odd things've been happening over there. Shipments disappearing, weapons stolen, Imperial outposts destroyed."

"It's that Organa," said the first woman. "He was the primary opposition to the Chancellor's ascent to power. Still is."

"He and that Senator from Chandrila…" the second woman said.

"Mothma."

"That's right."

Padmé's backache intensified, and she lowered her pallie, knowing a contraction was on its way. Massaging the spot slowly, she closed her eyes to focus on her breathing and their conversation.

"Mark my words," said the first woman, as the pain started in the small of Padmé's back and spread like fire around to her stomach. Squeezing, squeezing. "It'll come to a full-scale rebellion if the Emperor continues like this."

"They say the Senators are fearing the loss of power."

"Well, with so many disappearing, can you blame them?"

Padmé drew breath slowly, trying to work through the pain. In, out.

"Queen… oh, I forget her name. The smugglers say she's forbidden Imperial troops inside her palace at Theed. Caused quite a stir."

In, out.

"Apailana," Anabar said. "She must be hiding Jedi. She was a good friend to many on the Jedi High Council."

"May they rest in peace," said the second woman.

"May the winds be in her favor," said the first.

"_Tagwa_," they all murmured at once, and Padmé knew they were pressing their forefinger and thumb to their hearts.

In, out.

The women fell into silence for a moment.

"My dear," said Jira suddenly. "Are you okay?"

Startled, Padmé opened her eyes to meet Jira's furrowed brows. The other women had leaned in as well, looking concerned. She could only nod in response. In, out.

"She's in labor," the first woman concluded.

"Quickly, give her some water," said Anabar.

Padmé heard someone lift the jug off the ground. A moment later, the cool rim touched her lips, but she couldn't think of drinking now. She shook her head, and the jug retreated.

The contraction felt like it lasted forever, but when it finally faded into a dull ache in her lower belly, she could finally breathe out, feeling her body relax.

"Here, dear," said Anabar, and now she gratefully sipped the water that she offered.

"You shouldn't be working, _pateessa,_" said Jira. "You should be at home at rest."

Padmé nodded, wiping the moisture from her lips. "Perhaps I should be."

"How long until the child comes?" the first woman asked her.

"By nightfall, surely," the second woman said.

Padmé nodded again.

"Go, child," Jira told her, and the other women nodded. "We'll finish up your work and send your pay around later today."

Padmé knew the old woman was right. She should also contact Anakin to let him know that the contractions weren't false labor. And the midwife, too.

"Thank you." She touched her fingers to her lips to show her gratitude.

"Take your time recovering, dear," said the second woman.

"Bring your child with you when you return," Anabar said. She smiled crooked teeth.

Taking the hope of their news with her, Padmé thanked them again and left the canopy.

* * *

By the time she had reached the door to their home, another contraction had gripped her belly, and she struggled not to sink right down to their throw rugs.

Threepio came tottering in at the sound of the door sealing and jumped at the sight of her. "Oh! Hello, Mistress Padmé!"

She didn't even bother to correct the used of her name. In, out.

"You're back early—I haven't started making dinner yet—Artoo insists that he wants the oven repaired first and you know how he gets—"

"Threepio," Padmé managed to say. "I need you to…get Anakin and… the midwife."

"Oh!" Threepio straightened at the sight of Padmé bending over. "Mistress Padmé, are you in distress?"

"Yes," she said breathlessly. "Yes, I'm… in labor. Get Anakin."

"Oh!" said the protocol droid, retreating a few steps. "Oh!"

"Tell him the… the baby's coming. Get the midwife."

"Oh, dear!"

"_Now_," Padmé said.

"Oh, my!" Throwing his arms in the air, Threepio pressed the door's release and tottered out into the street.

* * *

Anakin left the junk shop when the twin suns came to rest just on the horizon, his head buzzing and his mind paces away. Offworld travelers and smugglers had been talking about organized rebellion and Jedi survivors for weeks now. Today, a Bothan had talked of an underground Alliance between Alderaan and Chandrila. And Anakin knew that if senators were forming a rebellion, he and Padmé wouldn't stay on Tatooine long. They couldn't. Neither of them had the patience to stay back and wait for the galaxy's fate to unfold.

The sand pushed at his boots as he trekked back through the settling heat to their small home.

He couldn't picture himself and Padmé raising a child on a battle station. If war broke out, he didn't know how they would manage both their family and their duties as commanders.

A cool rush of air greeted him when he stepped into their home. The room sat still and… strangely dark. Only a light shone under their bedroom door. Padmé must be home. Odd. She usually made it home after he did.

Artoo rolled out from the kitchenette, light blinking red and blue as he twittered something rapid. Something about Padmé being in distress—

"Padmé?"

Sudden panic gripping his chest, he didn't wait to hear Artoo's full reply. He ran towards their bedroom and pounded the release.

The door slid open to reveal Padmé squatting on one of the rugs, rocking back and forth on her feet. She looked up when she saw him, sweating shining on her brow.

"Padmé!"

"I'm okay, I'm fine," she gasped. Her fingers clenched the blankets on their bed, and her eyes squeezed closed. He drew to her side.

"Padmé—"

"Stop," she gasped, and Anakin understood she wanted silence. He could feel her pain arch in the Force, and after what felt like a long time, her rocking slowed and she spoke again. "The contractions were getting too bad. I—I had to leave work early. I sent Threepio to find you and the midwife—"

"What's going on? Why didn't you send for me sooner?"

Padmé's eyes closed again, and she waited a long moment before answering. "I needed to be alone. It's a long time before the baby comes, and I thought I would be able to finish the day—"

She looked so uncomfortable, squatting on the floor with sweat and hair plastered on her face and neck. Anakin put his arm around her, intent on helping her onto the bed. When he gripped her, however, she gasped in pain.

"No, no, don't—" she groaned, pushing his hands away. "I need to be like this."

"You're—you're going to have to get up."

She shook her head vehemently, and Anakin felt a twinge of hurt. He didn't know why she hadn't told him this earlier. "How long have contractions been going on?"

"I don't know—early this morning—"

"You didn't tell me!"

"I didn't know—" She broke off, catching her breath. "Something was trickling down my leg earlier, I don't know if my water broke—"

"Padmé—"

She gasped again.

He wasn't going to argue with her right now. She didn't have the strength to argue back and it was worrying him. "Where's the midwife?"

"I don't know," she groaned. "I don't know, I sent for her an hour ago—"

The door to their hovel slid open, and Threepio's loud, distressed voice filled the hallway. "Mistress Padmé, I can't reach Master Anakin or the midwife!" He tottered into the room. "Oh! Master Anakin! Mistress Padmé—"

"Send him away, please," Padmé said, shuddering.

Anakin couldn't, not with such alarming news. "Threepio, where's the midwife?"

"She's left!" he said. "Her house is empty, and Imperial clones are stationed outside!"

Anakin stared at the protocol droid, the clammy touch of horror creeping up his neck. This couldn't be Palpatine's doing. He didn't know where they were. He _couldn't_ know where they were—

Padmé's eyes met his, terror causing them to leap from the droid to Anakin and back again. "No," she said, beginning to hyperventilate. "No, I can't give birth without her."

They couldn't do it without a midwife—Anakin didn't know how to help her. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know anything about babies… But if Imperial clones were stationed outside the widwife's home, they'd have to do it by themselves.

Padmé breathed harder now, and Threepio wailed, "Mistress Padmé, you must tell me what to do—"

"Threepio," Anakin cut in. "Bring a glass of water."

"Oh, dear!" The protocol droid threw his arms in the air and shuffled off to the kitchen, Artoo twittering advice after him.

Not quite knowing where to start, Anakin began awkwardly rubbing Padmé's back. Her distress steadily mounted with each gasp, and her breathing began to hitch as she rode through the contraction.

"The Empire must have took her," Padmé said. "He must have—he must know. He must have known we fled together—he knew I was going to give birth—"

"We're not going to worry about it," Anakin interrupted her. "If the Empire knew where we were, they'd be here by now."

"They want the baby—_he_ wants the baby."

"He's not going to get him."

"Promise me—_aahhh—_" She leaned over, clutching her stomach. "Promise me… we'll leave here. He can't have the baby, he can't have him—"

"I promise, I promise—_shhh_."

Anakin piled pillows against her back, and allowed her to lean against him as her contractions worsened. An hour passed, then two, then three. The twin suns set. Anakin continued passing her water. He mopped her forehead. Most of the time, Padmé didn't respond to his touch. Her eyes remained closed, and she let out long humming moans with each pain spike.

Almost four hours in, she shifted abruptly mid-contraction.

"I have—I have to push," she gasped.

Anakin fumbled to readjust the pillows. "N—now?"

"Now—"

He wiped her brow and picked her damp curls off of her neck. The head came out first, slowly with each push, and then the shoulders, and then the whole body all at once.

Anakin caught the small being, grasping its head with one hand and body with the other. Its skin glistened with fluid. It opened its toothless mouth and let out a tiny watery wail.

"It's—it's a boy—" The tiny mass squirmed in his hands. The baby was so small. "Padmé, it's a boy—"

Padmé's hands fumbled to touch the infant, so Anakin turned his arms towards her. He brought the infant as close as the umbilical cord would allow.

"Luke." Padmé's voice shook as she brought the small pink body to her breast. "Luke."

"It's a boy," he told her, enveloping the two. He couldn't keep his hands away from the child. He had wrinkled skin and scrunched features and a cone-shaped head, but Anakin had never seen something so beautiful. "You were right, Padmé—"

The child began to cry in earnest now, no doubt chilled by the cooling air, and Anakin spread one of the small baby blankets over him. The full-chested wails settled to whimpers, and then he quieted.

"He's _ours_," he whispered as Padmé's fingers moved to explore the child's face. His hand followed hers, tucking the blanket securely over the red form. "He's _ours_. Luke." _Light_. It seemed appropriate. For the first time in months, he could see his son. His newborn son.

Luke's arms curled and contorted and his eyes scrunched, but Anakin marveled at the way his feet kicked and his fingers moved to touch Padmé's skin. He didn't know how long they sat cramped on the bedroom floor when he realized that his cheeks had become wet.

"We need to cut the cord," Padmé murmured, her half-lidded gaze fixed on Luke.

Anakin had to consciously take his attention away from his wife and child to reach for the knife nearby, placed in case of emergency. Padmé began to shift to aid him, but stiffened as Anakin reached to take the baby.

"What?" he said. "What is it?"

Padmé didn't reply at first. "I didn't realize contractions continued after birth," she said in a small voice.

Watching her from the corner of his eyes, he reached to clamp the cord. It cut tougher than he expected, and he had to work the knife for a few moments. Luke squirmed and whimpered under his touch.

Padmé's lips pressed together, and she closed her eyes. When he brushed her shoulder to offer comfort, she turned away from his touch.

"I'll clean him off," he told her, lifting the squirming child from her. She seemed apathetic as he took out a basin and filled it with water Threepio had warmed from the kitchen.

Taking a clean rag from their bedroom, Anakin sponged the newborn off. Blood and fluid trickled from the rag when squeezed, and Luke's mouth parted in protest of the water's touch. He had few light wisps on his head, darkened by the water's touch, and Anakin knew he had inherited his lighter hair. Perhaps it would later darken to look like Padmé's—

"Anakin," Padmé's voice said suddenly, sharply, and he turned. Her hand had reached down between her legs, and she met his gaze, terrified. "There's another head."

The rag fell from Anakin's hand. Luke whimpered and squirmed in his arms.

"Padmé?"

"There's another head."

Anakin was already across the room. As he pressed his hand against her abdomen, Padmé's breathing started to quicken.

"I can't do it again, I can't—"

Sure enough, another infant had engaged.

"_Kriff_," Anakin swore under his breath as he set Luke down on their cot. The newborn wailed in protest, hands grasping for his father's touch.

"How are there two?" Padmé whimpered, as Anakin bent to do a more thorough examination. Lip trembling, her eyes searched his for an answer, pleading. He tried to meet them steadily, though his heart had picked up again.

"You're… going to have to do it again."

"No, I can't—"

"You have to," he told her, repositioning the pillows that they had utilized before.

"No, no—" she gasped. "I don't want to, I'm tired—"

He wrapped his arm around her and helped her back into position.

"I don't want to," she whimpered.

"We can do it again," Anakin said, brushing her curls from her forehead. She leaned into his shoulder, leaving sweat on his neck, and gripped his tunic in bunches. He pressed his lips to her temple. "Nice and slow, okay?"

The second child came in twenty minutes. And this time, it was a girl that he passed to Padmé's breast. She collected the child to her as she collapsed against the pillows, and though she was clearly spent, her fingers inspected the infant's form and her lips kissed her head.

"Leia," Anakin said. "It's Leia." Padmé's form shook beneath his arms, and he could see tears of exhaustion and happiness in her eyes. He severed the second cord, and helped her to the bed where she could rest.

"You're going to look like your mother, I know it," Anakin murmured to the newborn after she too had been sponged off. She felt a bit smaller and lighter in his arms than her brother, but still looked healthy for a twin. He ran his finger over her cheek, and her mouth parted in a toothless squirm. "I knew you were a girl." Dark wisps crowned the infant's head, in contrast to her blond brother. She was beautiful.

Anakin cast a glance toward Padmé, who now rested drowsily. Her half-lidded gaze followed his movements, while at her breast, Luke dozed off in his blanket.

Anakin reached for the spare baby blanket, his daughter fixed securely against his chest. Leia squirmed a bit as he wrapped the blanket about her, and he smiled as her small arms and legs shifted under her fabric. He suspected he knew who had done most of the kicking before the two had been born. Her blue eyes flashed back, unfocused, at him. The blue might darken yet; they'd have to wait and see.

An itch of a smile turned the corner of Padmé's lip up as she watched him, and Anakin brought the child to her.

"Take Luke," she whispered, and he helped switch the children at her breast. Though the exchange was awkward, their son didn't stir when Anakin moved him from Padmé's arms. Padmé's eyes fixed on Leia's face as the girl moved in hungrily.

"Twins," Anakin said, feeling Luke's steady breathing under his hand. "Twins. I can't believe it."

As he lowered himself gingerly onto the corner of the bed, Padmé turned her chin up for a kiss. He answered it with a slow, tender caress. "How're you feeling?"

"Tired," she told him, smiling wearily. "Sore."

After a moment, her smile faded and her eyes returned to Leia's face. "Do you think we should take them to the medical clinic?"

"Do you think we can trust them?"

"I don't know," she said softly. She thought for a long moment. "I hope the midwife is alright, wherever she is."

Tracing his finger along the seam on Luke's blanket, he made sure to keep his words calm as he said, "You think Palpatine is behind it?"

"I think he knows where we are," she said. "He must, if he's been sending scouts. Maybe we weren't careful enough—"

"We were careful."

"If Imperials have been asking midwives questions, then someone's on the right trail. And what's worse, they're asking questions _here_. I think we need to leave, Anakin." Her gaze looked severe as Leia squirmed in her arms. "We can't stay."

Anakin kept silent for a long while. Padmé couldn't want them to move now, now that they had settled. Now that they both had jobs, and a house… "The search might pass us over."

"This is too close for comfort," Padmé said. "And we need to get some kind of medical care. If we go to a clinic here, the Empire will put us on the record and word might get back to Palpatine that we fit the description—"

"They won't ask questions here," Anakin said. "I—I can stay back. You can say the children are fatherless—"

Padmé looked hurt. "Anakin—"

"If we go somewhere else they'll do a midi-chlorian test, Padmé," he said quietly. He glanced at the children sleeping in their arms. "They're both strong, unnaturally strong. I don't know how to hide that. I'm afraid the results will get back to Palpatine."

"They're both Force sensitive?"

He watched Leia suckle, feeling her and her brother's strong presences pulse in the Force. "Very much so," he said. "I think a test would give us away."

Padmé's eyes returned to the baby in her arms, and in the silence that followed Anakin knew she was mulling the issue over. Finally, she said in a low voice, "I don't want to talk about it right now. I don't want us to become too comfortable here." She met his gaze steadily. "We can take them to the clinic, but if they ask questions, we're not going to linger."

Anakin knew she was right.

Outside, in the cooling night air, a clone patrol marched with blasters at their backs. Their boots hit the sand, and the dust curled up in wisps.

* * *

The vast darkness pressed in on him, suffocating but eerily cold like something long dead. By the chill on his back, he sensed an invisible skeletal hand straining for him—reaching, reaching, ready to snatch him away…

He whirled around, and could see only darkness around him. It curled around his body like a constricting reptile. His heart hammered in his ribcage.

A tickling whisper filled his ear, sending prickles down his neck. _The Dark will find you_. The darkness swirled like smoke, intoxicating, suffocating. He could feel his throat closing in on itself, his chest caving.

The tickle again. _The Dark will find you. _

Clonetroopers marched in the Temple. Lightsabers extinguished as Jedi dropped to the floor, eyes blank…

Clonetroopers marched on Tatooine—approaching, growing closer…

He heard Padmé's pleas, the wailing of children, blaster shots… He felt terrible pain and grief.

_The Dark will find you_.

He couldn't breathe.

The darkness morphed into a disfigured face. Palpatine's face.

_The Dark will break you_.

Palpatine lunged toward him—

Anakin's eyes snapped open, and he sat upright, breathing hard.

The room sat still around them. On the bed of fabrics, the twins were quiet, having gone back to sleep an hour before. Padmé was curled up beside him on their cot. Everyone was here, and okay.

As reality settled in his mind, he put his head between his knees to calm his rapid heartbeat.

Then, he heard it. The march of footsteps. The Force vibrated with darkness.

He knew that sound from his days fighting in the Clone Wars, and from that day in the Temple. Suddenly, it was as though someone had cracked an egg over his head. He felt his face drain of warmth.

"Padmé." He reached over to shake his wife's shoulder. "Padmé, get up."

Padmé shifted. Her eyes opened sleepily. "What?"

"We have to go… _now_."

"What?"

"Listen to me," he said, throwing back their blankets to collect his tunic from the ground. He ignored how his hands shook as they worked. "We're in danger. There're clones in the street. They're looking for us."

Padmé sat up in bed to look at him. "Now?"

"_Now_. We have to leave _now_."

Padmé looked around and pushed back their blankets. "The twins?"

"Collect them. Hurry."

He could hear clones marching outside, growing closer, and he snatched the bags that they had brought to Tatooine. He threw in the rest of their clothing, enough cloth for the babies' diapers, the dried fruit and roots, and the remaining bottles of bantha milk they had kept in their kitchen. He fastened his lightsaber under his tunic, and the familiar weight on his hip calmed his thoughts somewhat.

"Artoo," Anakin said as the astromech rolled over. The dome head issued a melancholy whistle. "Get Threepio. We're leaving immediately."

Padmé moved as quickly to the makeshift crib where the twins dozed on their backs. She wrapped a long cloth over her shoulders and fastened it with a pin at her back. "Hand me Luke."

She moved the dozing infant from Anakin's hands in the cloth's sling, and then drew him tightly to her chest. She did the same with Leia, and tucked the fabric in so they rested closely at her breast. Neither stirred, but Padmé placed a soothing hand over where they rested. They couldn't risk them waking and crying.

Outside, Anakin could hear clone troopers pounding their fists against neighbors' doors. He heard the fear-soaked cries amongst the clones' harsh demands.

"Artoo," Anakin said to the droids watching them. "Threepio. Let's go."

"Master Anakin—"

"No questions," Anakin snapped at him, and Threepio withdrew, his joints creaking. "Be quiet."

Anakin took Padmé's elbow and led her forward, slinging the food and clothing bags over his back and drawing his hood over his head.

They stumbled out the front door, Padmé pulled her own hood over her head, and they ducked into the shadows of the street.

As they rapidly moved down the length, Anakin piqued his ears to hear nearby neighbors' frantic explanations and clones' feet rapidly moving across the sand. Unless they turned a corner soon, they'd be in direct range of sight.

"_Hurry_." Anakin pulled Padmé faster, and she winced at the movement. Her fingers tightened on his tunic.

"They're ahead of us, too," she whispered as they ducked into the nearest side alley. As they squatted amongst the moisture vaporators, she used a shaking finger to check on the twins.

They heard the trotting of boots, and pressed into the shadows as a squad of clones jogged past.

"How did they know we were here?" Padmé's breath brushed his ear. "How could they know?"

When the sound of movement had quieted, they rose from their hiding spot and made their way down rest of the alley.

"There're some empty warehouses to the north," Anakin said. To his left and right, the next street looked still. "We might be able to stay there for a little, at least until we can find a transport."

Padmé nodded, her face pale in the moonlight.

They made their way through the streets, keeping to the shadows.

Then, finally, the streets grew wider and Anakin could see the gaping warehouses. Rust coated their walls, and the windows had been long boarded up. Chains and locks blocked the doors, but he knew it would take only a few moments to slip inside.

"There," he said in Padmé's ear. So close that he could taste safety—

Padmé's arm flung out to stop him from moving forward, and Anakin ducked back into the shadows just in time to see a lone clonetrooper turning around the warehouse's corner. On patrol. The clone turned around the front, adjusting the blaster in his arms, and paused just before the entrance.

Anakin forced his breathing to calm. So close to losing everything. He could kill the man if he had to, but any commanding officer could easily piece together the clone's absence and the missing Jedi.

As Anakin watched the clone, waiting for him to pass by, the babies started squirming and making small noises in Padmé's arms, ones that promised to get louder if provoked. Her hand leapt down to rub their backs.

"_Please_," Anakin heard her saying, as he himself sent soothing waves to their minds. "_Please_."

Shifting his blaster again, the clone moved forward a few meters.

Then, one of the twins let out a shaky cry. Anakin's heart leapt in his chest.

The clone didn't turn at the sound, making Anakin wonder if he'd heard it at all. Instead, he stood there for a few more moments, then continued past another warehouse. And suddenly nothing stood in the path to the warehouse.

He didn't want to wait for the next opportunity. Heart in his throat, he grasped Padmé's elbow and helped her forward.

The door and lock had rusted over, but his time in junk shops had taught him well. He picked it in a minute and hustled his wife and the droids inside. After ensuring that the door had been closed and everything looked as inconspicuous as possible, he followed her behind the nearest collection of crates and squatted in the shadows there.

He closed his eyes and reached out in the Force towards the clone, narrowing in on the sentient in tunnel focus. He could sense no changes in his signature.

"I think we're safe," he breathed, watching Padmé's hands shaking as she reached down to calm the twins. He allowed his bags slid from his shoulders. "We're okay."

_Click_.

Anakin whirled around to see the barrel of a blaster.

"_Who are you_?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Please," Padmé said.

The man standing behind the blaster frowned at them.

"Please, don't—"

"Who are you?"

Anakin slowly shifted position, ready to spring into attack.

The man's dark eyes studied them. "You're who they're looking for," he said.

Anakin's hand drifted down for the hilt under his tunic.

"You're the Jedi," the man said. "You're the Jedi they're looking for."

His palm met its coolness. His fingers wrapped around it.

"I didn't know the rumors were true—"

Anakin stood. "I _will_ kill you if I have to," he said, voice low.

The man backed up a few steps, lowering his blaster. "I'm a friend," he said.

Anakin called the man's blaster to him, and the man didn't try to chase after it. "You'll excuse me if I don't trust you."

"I'm not with them."

Anakin tossed the blaster aside and, approaching steadily, took out his lightsaber. "Everyone's with them."

The man's eyes followed the hilt as it drew closer. "I'm not."

Anakin ignored him.

"Please, _kikyuna_, you can read my honesty. I mean no harm."

Anakin could sense no dishonesty, but years of war had also taught him caution. He shoved the man against the warehouse wall. It creaked at he set his forearm under the man's chin.

"Ani." Padmé's voice had a warning tone.

The man's eyes snapped to Padmé, then to the golden protocol droid behind her. "Ani?" he echoed. "Anakin?"

Anakin felt suddenly cold. He shoved his hilt under the man's chin, ready to ignite it if needed.

"You're Anakin, Anakin Skywalker!" the man said. "I know you." Against the increasing pressure from the lightsaber, he said, "We—_aach_—used to be friends. Kitster. Kitster Banai."

Anakin started, relaxing his grip. "W—what?"

The man coughed. "We lived together on Tatooine. I remember your mother, Shmi. You worked for Watto. The offworlders won you in the Boonta Eve podrace and you left with them to become a Jedi…"

It all flooded back into Anakin's mind—all the ball games in the streets and his mother's cooking and their building projects together—and suddenly the man before him looked like the boy he had known…

"Kitster?"

The man nodded, and Anakin looked hard at the man. He knew the face; the dark eyes, the way the brown hair parted, the calloused hands…

"I thought you died in the Clone Wars," Kitster said. "The holonews used to follow you and the Jedi continuously, but when I heard about the Empire's purge…" He trailed off uneasily.

"You—you're Kitster?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I am."

He stared at him for a long time. The years didn't seem to have been kind to Kitster. He had a scar on his cheek, bruises on his knuckles, and he looked like he hadn't eaten in a little while. His clothing looked like it had come from the southern markets—rough and coarse and unstructured. Anakin would know. He and Padmé could only afford the cheapest clothing in the area.

"I know," Kitster said. "I'm different than how you remember me." He shrugged. "You're different, too. Your hair is darker. You're taller."

It might have been a joke, but Anakin didn't laugh. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm… hiding."

"Hiding?"

"From the clonetroopers."

"Why?"

"Let's…let's just say that I'm involved in some… elicit activities. The Hutts have a price on my head that the Empire wants to collect."

Anakin didn't like the vagueness. He refused to release Kitster's gaze. "What activities?"

Kitster's gaze was cautiously solemn, impressing the weight of knowledge he was divulging. "Slave liberation. And some other smuggling. I escaped myself, you see."

Anakin remembered the raw skin on his mother's wrists and whip marks on her legs and knife cuts on her cheeks. He remembered her limp weight in his arms.

His legs suddenly felt weak, and he compensated by tightening his grasp on Kitster.

"We smuggle them out on cargo ships," the man said, shifting uncomfortably. "We've developed a way to disable their slave transmitters. Luckily, too. I had to remove mine by more, uh, _traditional_ means." He motioned to the scar above his collar.

On the pristine skin below his breastbone, Anakin burned. "_And_?"

"There's a cargo ship moving out tomorrow," Kitster said. "We managed to free the newest import of slaves and we need to evacuate them immediately. Maybe… maybe I can help you."

The sudden sound of rusted metal being shoved against each other made Anakin jump, and he tightened his grip on Kitster's neck.

"Open up!" said a gruff voice from outside. The warehouse door groaned from the pounding. "Who's in there?"

A hand clenched on his tunic. Padmé's.

"Let's go," she murmured in his ear. She turned to the droids. "Artoo. Threepio."

Anakin could see another door on the warehouse's far end. They'd have to find another place to stay for the night if not even northern Mos Espa was safe. Maybe they could find a transport off of Tatooine that night.

Another hand came to rest on his arm, this time a calloused one.

"Follow me, Anakin," Kitster said. "I have a place where you can stay."

Anakin hadn't seen Kitster in years. His old friend could have changed… he might be dishonest. If Kitster double-crossed them, it wouldn't just be Anakin in danger. It would be Padmé and their children as well.

"Please," Kitster said, motioning to the rusted door at the warehouse's far end. "Trust me."

"Anakin…"

His words rang true in Anakin's mind. He nodded.

* * *

"We set up a network," Kitster said as they ducked under the lintel into the underground dwelling. Cool air brushed Anakin's cheeks, resting in a shiver at his spine. "We smuggle out any slaves that we can every two moons or so. The problem's that slaveholders are catching on to our tactics—now it's getting harder to contact anyone who's enslaved and give them the tools they need to free themselves. My wanted pictures're hanging up all over Mos Espa market—I don't know if you've seen them."

Anakin half-listened as he etched their surroundings into his mind. Behind him, Artoo let out a string of beeps—something to do with the Empire's new Jedi pictures. "I haven't."

"Well," said Kitster. "It's getting more difficult."

They paused as the hallway opened up to a wide, dark room. Anakin could only spot about ten sentients in the shadows, lying with scanty blankets on the stone floor, but he sensed over twenty present. Slaves. A small fluorescent light hung in the corner, flickering every so often.

"Banai," said a voice from the shadows, and out stepped a Zabrak with a blaster in her arms. Another rested at her back.

"Oomassa."

Her orange skin brightened as she stepped into the flight. She lowered her blaster, and her cautious gaze turned toward Anakin, Padmé, and the droids. "You brought visitors."

"Others that need our help," Kitster said. "If we can, I'd like to put them on the transport tomorrow."

"It'll be difficult," Oomassa said, as her gaze fell down to the twins in Padmé's sling, then back up to their mother. Her eyes looked purple in the light. "Do they cry?"

Padmé slid a protective hand over them, as if to shield them from the Zabrak's gaze. "They won't be a problem," she said. "We need to leave as soon as we can."

Like night and day, Oomassa's expression suddenly hardened. She turned to Kitster. "Who are they?"

His lips pressed thin. "Let's head over by the crates," he said. "It'll be more comfortable for the mother and children."

They sat down on a collection of crates in the room's corner, far enough from the slaves and droids that they could talk freely.

"This is Car'ina," Kister introduced them. "Car'ina Oomassa. She works with me."

Oomassa lowered herself to the crate slowly, following Kitster's movements like a hawk. "I won't take anyone who's a risk to this mission."

"This mission is already a huge risk," Kitster said.

Her gaze seemed to penetrate Anakin. "Are they slaves?"

"No," said Kitster. "They're not."

Her scowl deepened. "They're not slaves?"

Padmé snuck Anakin a wary look. Anakin could sense Oomassa putting the pieces together—the rumors of Jedi, the clones all over Mos Espa, the whispers of Jedi extinction…

Recognition darkened Oomassa's features, and her facial tattoos lowered in a frown. "They're not slaves," she said. "They're _Jedi_."

"The Empire is looking for us," Anakin said. "We need to leave as soon as we can."

He watched Oomassa's eyes flicker to his children. Then back up to him. "I can't help you."

"You have to," Anakin said. "They'll kill us if you don't."

"Look," Oomassa said in a low voice. "Our lives are already in a lot of trouble here. My reward's already at five thousand credits. Kitster's is four thousand. But the Jedi… they're thirty thousand _each_."

Anakin clenched his jaw. "What're you saying?" he asked.

"I'm saying that my job is already risky—"

"Tell them what you do," said Kitster.

"Banai…"

"They'll understand."

Oomassa sighed. Her gaze returned to Anakin and Padmé. "I work with an anti-government organization. They're dedicated to overthrowing the Empire and restoring the Republic. We smuggle slaves and supplies—"

Padmé straightened abruptly. "The Alliance?"

Oomassa frowned.

"Bail Organa? Mon Mothma?"

"Yes, _shush_," said the Zabrak. "A few Jedi, too."

Anakin felt his chest tighten. "J—Jedi?"

Oomassa's gaze looked hard. "Yes."

"Which Jedi?" said Padmé.

"I don't know," she said.

She lied. "Which Jedi?" Anakin asked again.

"It's none of your business."

"I need to know," he said, more harshly.

"You don't."

"_Which ones_?"

Oomassa scowled at him. "Master Yoda."

"Who else?" said Anakin.

Oomassa's gaze looked hard.

"_Who else_?"

"There're maybe five of them on Alderaan. A Togruta Master, two Padawans—"

"The last one?"

Oomassa's facial tattoos lowered dangerously, but Anakin needed to know who had survived. He needed to know—

"General Kenobi."

Anakin didn't feel anything for a long while—he couldn't. The words circled his mind, ever present but not quite penetrating. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was alive. Obi-Wan had survived Utapau and Grevious and Order 66—

He remembered seeing Obi-Wan's body in his dreams—crumpled, blank, bloodstained.

For a how long had he believed their parting words had been on Coruscant... And Obi-Wan hadn't been shot down by his troops on Utapau—

He couldn't speak for a long moment. His chest felt tight.

"He—he's alive?" Padmé's voice sounded muffled.

"A few other Jedi survived, too," Kitster said. "They're split up in groups across in the galaxy."

"I… can't believe it," Padmé murmured.

"You knew him," Kitster said.

Anakin started when he realized Kitster had addressed him. "I—" his throat croaked.

"He was a good friend." Padmé's fingers slid into his. She squeezed his hand.

"We work with them to relocate the slaves," he heard Kitster saying. "Some join the Alliance, many choose to reside in peace."

"And the Alliance," said Padmé, "Are they—"

"We can't tell you anything more," Car'ina Oomassa said, firmly.

"But you…you'll help us."

Oomassa remained unmoved for a long time. Then, she said in a low voice, "We may find room on the transport."

* * *

"You okay?" said a soft voice beside Anakin's ear. He jumped when he realized Padmé had lowered herself onto one of the crates nearby. He had been meditating for most of the night, trying to find answers in the swirls of the Force. Everything felt cloudy.

"Fine," he said, but the hoarseness of his voice surprised him.

He heard rustling, and she pressed something spongy into his palm—the bread from their bag. "It's… good to hear about Obi-Wan."

He knew she wanted to talk about it, but he didn't know if he did. Instead of replying, he ripped into the bread. It felt a bit hard under his teeth, but neither of them had eaten since they had arrived. "Where are the twins?"

Padmé's silence told him she wasn't happy with the change in topic. "I fed them a half hour ago. They're asleep. Artoo and Threepio are watching them for a moment."

He ripped off another piece of bread. "I should be caring for you," he said. "Not the other way around."

Padmé watched him quietly. "Some of the women were able to give me rags for the bleeding," she said. "And some herbs for the pain. I'll be okay for now."

He nodded, though some guilt remained.

"What are you thinking about?"

He drew a long breath. Blank eyes, discarded lightsabers. "Nothing important."

"Anakin."

"I just… I don't want to talk about it."

"Talking about it will help."

He remembered soothing the cowering younglings. He remembered the explosion, and seeing their tiny limbs strewn all over the Crèche. He remembered the burst of pain in his head, and then darkness… terrible darkness.

"Anakin."

He ripped at the bread.

"You can't live your life like this."

"What choice do I have?" he snapped, aware that the irrational anger had nothing to do with Padmé's remark. "I can't stop seeing them—I can't stop—" He almost _betrayed_ them. _He_ could have been the one dismembering younglings. He had almost been—

"It's not your fault," Padmé said. "You're just one man."

It _could_ have been his fault. It _could_ have been. He could have betrayed everyone he had loved. Obi-Wan...

"If this is about Palpatine," Padmé said, rubbing his arm, "you didn't know. You didn't know who he was."

He pressed his palms to his eyes, struggling to calm his breathing. "I _should_ have known. I was so, so stupid. So foolish, and arrogant…"

"You didn't know," Padmé said. "You do now. Obi-Wan, he can help us. We're going to make it through. We can make sure Luke and Leia have a bright future."

She rubbed his arm, but he couldn't quite look at her. He knew she was right, but he also knew that only he could make peace with himself.

* * *

"Let's _move_," Oomassa said under her breath as they moved through Mos Espa's alleyways to their transport.

Padmé drew Luke closer to her breast. Through the folds of her hood she could see a group of clones ahead, lingering in the archway to the landing platform. Her stomach clenched.

"We're going to be fine." Anakin's low voice brushed past her ear.

Perhaps she should be the one doing the reassuring. Anakin's face had drained of color at the sight of the troopers, and his knuckles had grown white as he gripped his belt. The faint outline of his lightsaber hung there underneath his tunic.

Luke squirmed a bit in her arms, and she raised her hand to rub his back. She knew he was getting hungry. It had been a couple of hours since she had last fed him and his sister.

She saw the clones begin to shift as the troopers watched them approach.

"The other groups are through," Oomassa murmured behind her. Kitster had organized the rest of the operation, taking the slaves on different pathways to the transport. He had agreed to meet them there with the droids in seven minutes.

"And Kitster?" Anakin murmured, shifting Leia against his chest. Her small fists bumped his shoulder.

Oomassa pulled out a comlink device, which blinked green in her cloak's shadow. "He's already there. We're set."

They drew closer to the clone troopers, intending to slip past them subtly, but Padmé could tell by the way that the clones shifted that their suspicions had been aroused.

"Stop, please," one of the clones said, holding up a hand.

"Is there a problem?" Oomassa said, brow arching.

"Where are you headed?"

Padmé could see how Oomassa's hand slowly drifted down to the blaster at her hip. "The northern market," she said. "They have the machine parts need for our vaporators."

"Who are you?"

"Moisture farmers," she said. "We're in town for a little while."

"What're your names?"

Padmé glanced uneasily at Anakin. He could easily fix this—he knew how to manipulate minds. She knew he didn't like it, but surely this situation called for drastic measures…

"I'm sorry," said Oomassa. "Is there a problem?"

"We'll need identification to let you pass."

Oomassa reached into her pocket to pass a chip to them, which they studied and handed back way too fast for them to have read it. "We need identification for the others."

This was it. They wouldn't get through this by persuasion alone. Padmé looked over at her husband, and saw by the frown on his face that he had drawn the same conclusions. Just when she thought the pause would stir the troopers' suspicion, he stepped up and waved his hand before their eyes.

"You don't need identification."

"We don't need identification."

"We're moisture farmers from Southern Tatooine."

"You're moisture farmers from Southern Tatooine."

"You will let us pass."

"You're free to pass."

Padmé saw Oomassa's frown deepen as she watched the Jedi, though she apparently had the tact not to say anything. She moved silently through the archway as the troopers stepped aside, her hand on her blaster the entire time.

"They won't remember us," Anakin murmured, pulling his hood farther over his head. Oomassa moved them quickly from the area, and Padmé watched as the buildings around them grew smaller and rougher. Only a little ways to go, now.

"Jedi!"

Padmé whirled around. A rough-looking man stood across the street, pointing at them as he looked between them and a nearby group of clonetroopers…

"Jedi!"

She felt the ground drop beneath her. How could he know? She felt Anakin stiffen.

For a horrible moment, neither group moved, all staring in shock at each other.

Then, it all happened at once. The clone troopers started shouting, shifting their blasters to firing position, and, as Padmé found her blaster under her cloak, Anakin's hand pulled her into a run.

"Let's go!" snapped Oomassa, as the three of them tore down the sandy street, heading straight for the market. Clone troopers thundered behind them, shouting.

People grunted and cursed as they pushed their way through the stalls and crates, ducking under tents and dodging moving carts. Padmé heard a blaster shot, and a shuura fruit beside her burst into speckled flesh and juices. Anakin's blade ignited, flicking away two more.

Luke whimpered in her arms, squirming, and she pressed him close to her. Her boots hit the sand in labored beats, and she felt pain grip her belly and groin as she twisted to fire shots behind her. Two clones crumbled.

"Go, go…" Oomassa urged.

A spray of lasers landed in the sand around them, and Oomassa flung her own blaster over her shoulder. Two clones dropped to the sand. The rest rushed around them.

"They're getting closer," Oomassa said, voice tight.

"Another squad," Anakin said. "Just ahead."

A squad of fresh clones hustled around the corner of the market, blasters positioned.

"They see us," Oomassa said, as the foremost clone pointed in their direction and the squad set out at a run.

Cursing vibrantly in Huttese, Anakin steered them into a sharp right. The alleyway narrowed in on them, and they moved single file through the passage, so close that their tunics caught on the rough walls.

A sudden clattering sounded above her head, and Padmé's head snapped up. Clone troopers ran along the rooftops, positioning their guns.

"Anakin…"

He glanced upward. "I see them," he said tightly, as the three of them ducked in the shadow of the roof's overhang. Padmé fired through the wrenched holes in the metal, and was rewarded with a few loud thumps. Bodies rolled above them, and lasers rained down around.

A few meters before them, a wall pipe burst, spraying jets of water everywhere. Padmé felt her clothes grow heavy with the moisture, and Luke let out a wail.

"Move, _move_!" said Oomassa, as the end of the alley drew near. With each laboring step, the crack of light grew bigger. "We can make it!"

At the same time, Padmé knew they wouldn't make it. The thundering of footsteps grew louder by the moment. She could see clones quickly closing in on all sides, and, sooner or later, a blaster shot would hit one of them. With the twins, it wasn't worth it.

Anakin blocked another blaster shot. "We're not going to make it," he said in a low voice, Leia's wail sounding muffled in his chest.

The crippling pain surged again in Padmé's abdomen. "The twins, Ani," she said, forcing the words past her pain. "The twins—they're just infants—"

His grasp on her arm tightened.

"Ani—"

"I know what to do," he said.

"What?"

He grabbed Oomassa's arm. "Take Padmé," he said. "Get on board—"

Padmé felt as though a knife had been driven into her belly. "No!"

He pressed a small bundle—Leia—to Padmé's chest, and she struggled to collect both infants. "Get her on board," he said to the Zabrak. "Take her to Organa—"

"Anakin!"

"I'll meet you there—"

"Skywalker!" said Oomassa. "That wasn't the plan!"

"Kitster gave me the coordinates—"

"That wasn't the plan, either!"

"I'll steal a ship and meet you there in three days."

"If Empire gets the coordinates—"

"I'll make sure they don't," he said, and the knife in Padmé' belly twisted.

She grabbed the handful of tunic she could reach. "Ani, Anakin, you can't—"

"It's me they're after," he said, as he pried her fingers away. His gaze was apologetic, and it made Padmé feel sick.

"Skywalker—"

A group of clones turned into the alley.

"There they are!" shouted one, and the boots thundered towards them as their arms fixed their blasters.

"Go!" Anakin said. "_Go_!"

Padmé felt a tug on her arm, and Oomassa pulled her forward. The twins struggled in her arms.

"Anakin!" She didn't know when she'd see him again, where, or how—

"Go!" he said. "I'll find you!"

Clutching the twins to her and ducking as lasers shot over her head, she stumbled after Oomassa. The sand blew up in her face, getting in her hair and mouth and tunic.

She risked a last glimpse before they turned the corner of the alleyway, and saw the clones closing in on Anakin. He stood with his chin raised and his leather gauntlet clenched around his silver hilt.

The white closed around him, and his lightsaber hummed.


	4. Chapter 4

Padmé's feet were burning and the twins wailing by the time she and Oomassa collapsed in the shadows of Mos Espa's market, away from the probing eyes of the two clones who had pursued them. In the mercy of the shade, she struggled to cool and catch her breath.

"Shut them up," Oomassa hissed at her, sparing a glare at the infants as she peered out at the settlers moving about the stalls.

Padmé clutched the twins to her chest, and, rubbing their backs to soothe them, said a silent prayer to the Force that their fussiness had to do with their hunger rather than a ruptured Force-bond with their father. She shuddered at the thought.

Luke's tiny fists bumped her shoulder. Eventually, his and his sister's wails quieted to tiny whimpers.

Beside Padmé, Oomassa's hand rummaged in her pocket. It eventually retracted with her comlink, and they saw that the device's green light had turned yellow.

"Banai's holding the transport for the next few minutes," Oomassa interpreted. "But if the clones show up, he's not going to wait."

At the far end of the street, the clones who had chased them from the alley were poking through the stalls with their blasters. Padmé knew reinforcements would arrive shortly—she and Oomassa would have to clear the area as soon as they could.

Oomassa's eyes had latched onto the clones like a bird of prey. "Let's go," she said.

The Zabrak stood first, and Padmé followed. They jostled their way through the crowds, coming so close to others around them that their shoulders bumped and tunics caught and Padmé could almost taste the salt of sweat and the sweetness of pallie skin.

Just above the surface of the crowd, she could see a white helmet scanning the mass of people. Close. He was too close. She shrank into the crowd's depths, keeping her children out of sight.

"To your left," Padmé murmured in Oomassa's ear, trying to keep her lips as still as she could.

Oomassa stiffened. Her head turned fractionally to the side.

The clone straightened, and a white-armored hand rose to hail them. "Hold!"

Oomassa's grip on Padmé's arm tightened, and they began pushing into the crowd's flow.

"You there!"

Padmé shoved past an offended-looking Bothan and Trandoshan. They both cursed at her in Huttese, and the twins started wailing again.

"You two!"

Ducking under the crowd's level, she and Oomassa darted around a group of stalls, slipped under a low canopy, and followed a lumbering Bantha. Finally, when the clone was lost in the crowd, they ducked behind a rickety crate and squatted in the shadows there, breathless and burning.

One of the sellers nearby eyed them suspiciously, gathering his change purses more closely to his tunic. But he said nothing. Oomassa's knuckles turned white as she gripped her blaster.

"_Pateessa_!"

Padmé jumped at the familiar voice. She whirled around to see Anabar approaching with Jira and a large woven basket of shuura imports.

"_Pateessa_," said Anabar, shading her eyes with her wrinkled hand, "what are you doing out? You should be resting…" Her brows rose at Padmé's heavy breathing and her twins' crying.

"Greetings," Padmé forced out, hastily touching her fingers to her lips in an effort to retain normalcy.

"We don't have time…" Oomassa hissed in her ear. She had gone very pale, and they both risked a glance over the crates. Two more clones were poking the boxes of fabrics two stalls away. Padmé's heart hammered in her chest.

Anabar frowned. "My dear…?" Her gaze followed Oomassa's and her eyes narrowed on the white amour. She straightened.

"Are they following you?" she said in a low voice, her eyes glued onto the clones.

"They… they all are," Padmé said. "We need to get off planet as soon as we can."

"Are you members of the Alliance?" Anabar said.

Though Oomassa shot her a warning glare and she felt her own shock at the old woman's words, Padmé nodded.

Anabar didn't show surprise. She offered her hand. "Come, child."

"Anabar…" Padmé said, unsure of what to say. Helping them would be dangerous, potentially fatal. She risked another glance at the clone troopers moving closer. Soon, they would hear the babies' crying, and all hell would break loose.

"We don't have time for this," Oomassa said in a low voice.

Anabar fixed her with a steady look. "We can help, if you'll accept it."

Oomassa ripped her glare from the clones. "Help us?"

"Take this," said Anabar, pulling the fruit basket from Jira's wrinkled hands and passing it to Oomassa. "And this," she said, handing over her cloak.

To Padmé's relief, Oomassa slid the cloak on over her flightsuit and lifted the fruit basket without complaint. She seemed to understand what Anabar was planning.

"Where're you headed?" Anabar asked them, gaze flickering to the approaching clones. Only a few stalls away, now.

Oomassa drew the hood over her face. "Northern hangar."

"Pass me the twins," Anabar said, and Padmé felt her heart skip a beat when she realized the old woman had extended her arms to the babies.

"No," she said quickly. She had already given up Anakin—

"_Pateessa_," said Jira, and Padmé felt her gentle hand on her arm. "They'll have a description of you. They know you have children. Best to split you up."

Anabar's gaze softened in reassurance, and Padmé found her hands handing over one twin at a time. Both squalled as they left her arms, fists flailing.

Jira passed Padmé a second cloak, and it took her only a moment to slip her arms into the fabric and pull the hood over her head.

"They'll be safe with me," Anabar told her, holding the squirming infants close to her breast. She motioned to the Zabrak. "Us first."

The two set out through the market, and Padmé felt pressure in her chest as she watched them go. She could see her children pressed against Anabar's shoulders—small, pink, wrinkled.

"Child," murmured Jira. "They'll be okay."

"My husband, too."

"I know," she said.

They waited two minutes, until the clones were at the next stall over. Then, Jira reached down to grasp her hand. "_Pateessa_, let's go."

Padmé could feel the clone troopers' eyes on them as they moved along. She kept her face low, in the shadow of the hood.

They found the transport, brown and rusted over, tucked in the corner of the abandoned hangar. Oomassa and Anabar were already there with the twins, fruitbasket pushed aside and cloak pooled on the ground. On the loading ramp, Kitster and a male Togruta pushed a large crate into the ship's belly.

"Quickly, quickly," Kitster yelled from the loading ramp, as Oomassa bounded over to help them. "Troopers closing in, less than a minute!"

Padmé hustled towards Anabar and pulled the twins against her breast. She didn't know how to begin to show her gratitude. "Anabar—"

"Thanks are not needed, _Pateessa_," said Anabar, gripping her arms. "Go now. I'll look out for your husband."

"Come with us," Padmé said. "You'll be in danger now that you've helped us—"

Anabar shook her head. "Our lives are here, with the desert," she said. "We're old now, and set in our ways."

They could hear the rumble of footsteps—unmistakably combat boots.

"Let's go!" yelled Kitster from the ramp, as the crate and the rest of the crew disappeared into the ship.

"Go now!" Anabar said. "We'll be safe!"

Gathering her children to her chest, Padmé hustled to the ship just as clones burst into the hangar. They leveled their blasters, and the hangar alit with fire. Lasers left burns on the ship and the hangar walls, and a crate on the ground exploded into angry flames.

Padmé needed to know that the two old women were going to be okay. Just at the base of the loading ramp, she turned one last time to peer past the streaks of red. Jira and Anabar had disappeared, their fruitbasket and cloaks nowhere to be found. Somehow, she knew they'd be safe.

She bounded up the loading ramp and hit the lift lever. Less than a half-minute later, the transport lifted out of Mos Espa, the suns dull against its brown frame.

Below, the clonetroopers lowered their blasters.

"Let the old ones go," said their commander, watching the transport become a shadow in the sky. He turned to a clone at his side. "Did you set the tracking beacon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. It's the Jedi we want to catch."

* * *

With voices yelling around him and blaster fire falling hot on his tail, Anakin barreled through yet another cluster of carts. Around him, as vendors leapt out of the way, blaster fire rained on the alley's metal pipes like small firecrackers, and the explosions' hot debris stung Anakin's hands and neck.

"Jedi!" someone shrieked, as Anakin ducked under an angry burst. His humming blade flicked away two blaster shots.

Troopers rumbled behind him, on the ground and on the roof.

"Jedi! There's a Jedi!" a Rodian yelled as he tried to steer his cart out of the way. Too late. As a laser grazed by, the cart's fabrics caught fire, and his glass pitchers toppled to the ground. Mid-leap, Anakin reached through the Force to the shards and thrust them behind him, towards the chinks in any white armor he could see.

"Aargh!"

Behind him, four clones crumbled, and the rest struggled not to trip over their fallen comrades.

The distraction gave Anakin the free moment he needed. Gathering the Force to his muscles, he bounded off a nearby cart to the rooftop. At least three troopers stood in his way, and as he slashed through them, their limp bodies tumbled off the metal overhang. For a moment, all Anakin could see was red and falling bodies.

The Force tingled at his neck. Four lasers approaching. His lightsaber reflected them back, and, on the next rooftop over, their owners collapsed.

A fleet of combat boots thundered across the rooftop towards him, and, using his surging frustration to give himself focus, Anakin reached out and flung the first two clones he saw into each other. He flung the next further. And further. With each he pushed away, he got some sort of sadistic pleasure hearing the crack of their bones hitting the sand below.

A second fleet approached, this time more hesitant. As he advanced on them, they shuffled back against each other, not wishing to end up like the the bodies lying broken below. He could smell their fear in the Force. It suffocated him a bit, made his throat feel tight and his stomach turn—

He flung them, screaming, off the rooftop, and their bodies cracked and went quiet as they hit the sand below.

Below, at the far end of the street, a group of clones spotted him and leveled their blasters up. He leapt down to meet them, lightsaber aloft and ablaze. As the front row fired, he bounded off the wall and swung his blade. Headless bodies dropped to their knees.

The second row didn't hesitate, and he flung his blade at their necks. They gurgled, blasters tumbling from limp fingers, and dropped to the sand. It curled up to meet them.

The alley faded into a still silence, and Anakin used the moment of peace to glance behind him. The rest were a good twenty meters away, but approaching quickly. Anakin sprinted onward. He needed to get out of there, to lead them as far away from Kitster's transport as possible.

Padmé needed to be safe, and the twins.

Somewhere to hide—somewhere to hide…

Suddenly, the Force screamed at him, and Anakin stumbled around the corner to find a black barrel pointing at his head.

"You're finished, Jedi!" said the clone, a commander, as he leveled the blaster.

_Clones kneeling, positioning their guns, letting blue streaks bathe the great hall…_

The Force around him turned red. His hand shot forward, and he heard a horrible splintering _crack_. The body crumpled to the ground, neck at an odd angle and blood bubbling from underneath the pristine helmet.

Heat rushed through Anakin's veins. He might have stayed longer, staring in shock at the blood flowing like water from the helmet, but the echo of more footsteps drove him on. He stumbled down the rest of the alley and turned onto another street.

A cluster of moisture vaporators sat in one of the street's nooks, and he could see a space between them and the wall that looked perfect for hiding. Gathering the remaining breath he had, he gave his last burst of speed to reach them, wedge his body between the cylinders, and bend into a squat. The vaporators' cool metal did something to help him calm his breathing as he listened for the rest of the clones catching up.

Not ten seconds later, he heard boots pausing at the street's entranceway. "Where'd he go?"

If they came down that the street, the chances were that they'd find him. Anakin turned his lightsaber in his hands, smearing something slimy over the hilt. He paused to wipe it off on his tunic. Stained red.

"You two," said the leader. "Down there. The rest of you—follow me."

Two. He could handle two more. He listened to the rest jog away.

"Let's go," said one of the remaining troopers.

The two left behind moved forward slowly, their boots pivoting in the sand as they inspected each crevice in the street.

They drew closer…

Closer.

The Force drew tight around him like a band ready to snap…

"I found—!"

Anakin leapt from his hiding place, and with a flick of his blade, halved their blasters. Their smoking weapons dropped to the sand, and they stumbled over one another in attempts to escape. One of them tripped, smacked his head against the wall, slumped over, and was still. The other scrambled up, trying frantically to gain distance from the humming blade.

"No! No please—"

Anakin's stomach turned as the decapitated body tumbled to the ground, and he was reminded of a similar beheading not long before on the _Invisible Hand_. He shouldn't have done that. Obi-Wan wouldn't have done it.

He used the Force to move the head and body behind the vaporators, so he couldn't be tracked. Then, he turned to the second clone…

Not dead. This one shifted a bit. Anakin could see his helmet turn a bit. He was still for a long time.

"Where… am I?"

Anakin held his blade up, ready to strike.

"Where…?"

Obi-Wan wouldn't kill anyone when he was unarmed and defenseless. The Jedi Code said not to. Anakin's lightsaber hummed above his head, but somehow he couldn't find the strength to bring it upon the clone.

"Sir?" The clone reached up and took off his helmet, revealing the familiar face of Jango Fett. He groaned and held his head, where a large bump was forming. "Sir, where are we?"

_Sir_. The Clone Wars.

"Sir?"

"I—"

The Jedi Temple, smoking. Bodies everywhere. Jedi. Clones too. _This one didn't remember any of it._

He had his lightsaber poised, ready to strike. It would be so easy, like all the others he had killed that day.

But somehow, he couldn't. The Force told him not to. He couldn't—he couldn't—he _wasn't_ the person who killed Dooku. He wasn't the same person. He wasn't Palpatine's apprentice—

The clone's eyes grew wary as they fixed on Anakin's blade. "Sir, please…" He held up a hand. "I don't understand."

They were programmed. Anakin knew that they were genetically programmed to kill Jedi on command. Was it possible that the inhibitor chip could've been damaged? He'd seen malfunctions before.

"General, are you okay?"

He needed to get out of there. He needed to find a ship so he could reunite with Padmé and the twins…

Anakin lowered his blade and shakily made his way down the rest of the street. The clone stared at him in confusion.

"Sir?" He heard the man get up and head after him. "Sir, I don't understand. I don't remember arriving here. I was on Felucia—"

Felucia. Where Aayla Secura had gone missing.

"Don't follow me," Anakin said sharply, whirling around.

"General—"

"_Don't_ call me that. And don't follow me."

"I… don't understand. I think I've had memory loss."

Anakin stalked away. The clone's footsteps quickened behind him.

"I don't know where I am. I don't know what planet this is. Do we have a ship? Where's General Secura? General Aaliee? A—and the padawans?"

Small bodies on the ground. Innocent padawans, and younglings… Anakin pressed his lips together, not trusting his stomach.

"You're General Skywalker—"

Something in Anakin snapped. He spun toward the man and shoved him against the street wall, placing his elbow under his neck. "I _said_ don't call me that."

"But please," he choked out. "I don't understand. Where's General Secura?"

"Dead," Anakin snapped.

"W—what?"

"I don't have time for this."

"But… why? Where do I go?"

Anakin heard shouts in the distance, heard the thunder of footsteps approaching. He needed to get out of there—now.

"Sir?" the clone called after him, hesitantly jogging to catch up. "Sir…?"

Anakin turned to see a group of clones turning down the street, blasters raised. Without even flinching at the sight of their brother in the way, they opened fire.

Lasers flew towards them, and the amnesiac clone's eyes widened in shock. He and Anakin must have appeared coconspirators. Or perhaps the price on Anakin's head was bigger than loyalty. Either way, it didn't matter to their attackers. Both were now targets, and both would be dead in a moment if they didn't clear out.

The amnesiac clone ducked as more lasers flew over his head. "W—what?"

"Do you want to be killed?" Anakin snapped, starting to run. "_Move_!"

The clone stumbled forward the first few steps, and then broke into a run after him.

Anakin found that he kept up pretty quickly. They wove through a few streets, moving south, until they were certain that they had lost the group behind them.

"I don't understand," the clone said as they rounded their final corner. It felt like he had mentioned it a million times, and Anakin felt the familiar itch of frustration returning. He whirled towards the clone.

"What's your name?"

"CT-5439, sir," he said. "General Secura nicknamed me Theo."

"Listen, _Theo_," Anakin said, "It's time for you to leave."

"But—"

"If you haven't noticed, your brothers are out to kill me. _And_ you."

Theo shifted uneasily. "That's… that's what I'm confused about, sir."

"Well, keep it to yourself," Anakin snapped.

The southern hangar wasn't far away now, and Anakin reckoned he could hotwire a ship and get himself out of there. Even an Imperial fighter would do.

As he made his way towards the domed buildings in that direction, he heard Theo jogging to catch up. His boots hit the sand heavily.

"If they're trying to kill me too, shouldn't I stay with you, sir?"

Anakin didn't grace him with an answer.

"Why would they be chasing after you, sir?" he asked. "Have the Jedi done something wrong?"

Anakin shifted the hilt in his hand so it didn't give him away as they approached the populated streets once more. He could see people moving just ahead of him, and knew that they would have to pass through the crowd to reach the southern hangar.

The gravel and sand crunched below Theo's boots. Anakin forced his breathing to calm.

"What were we doing before I… hit my head? Were we rounding up those malfunctioning clones?"

"No one is rounding up any malfunctioning clones," Anakin said, struggling to keep his voice even. It wouldn't do him good to shout in a public space when he didn't want to draw attention.

"We weren't?"

"_We_ weren't doing anything."

"I'd really appreciate if you answered my questions, sir," said Theo.

"You'll have to excuse me," Anakin snapped, whirling towards him. "Before you hit your head ten minutes ago you were trying to _kill_ _me_."

Theo recoiled a bit. "W—what?"

Anakin growled in frustration, and, just when he thought he had left the blasted clone behind for good, he heard boots running to keep up with him.

"Listen," Anakin snarled, whirling again. "I told you to leave."

"But… what did you do?"

"Do?" Anakin snarled. "_I_ did nothing. You and your brothers have been killing Jedi for _weeks_. If you're wondering why you're not with General Secura anymore, it's because you killed her."

Theo's eyes widened, and Anakin turned away, face hot.

"I couldn't."

"Well, you _did_."

"The Jedi are on our side—"

"Yeah, not anymore," snapped Anakin, and the last thing he saw as he turned away was Theo's baffled gaze.

"Sir?" Theo called, though he made no movement to follow. "Sir!"

Anakin ignored him. He couldn't stand to be around the clone much longer—the memories were too painful. He couldn't use a clone, anyway; he couldn't trust him. The clone could be volatile. He could regain his chip's functionality and slaughter Anakin in his sleep. And because Anakin was heading straight for the meeting coordinates where the Alliance would be waiting, he couldn't afford to take risks.

"_Sir_!"

Anakin ignored him. He could see the shipyard in the distance, where polished metal glinted in the twin suns. Not long now.

"_Sir_, _duck_!"

Anakin sensed it a moment later, as the Force thickened in his ears. He dropped to the ground, and a TIE fighter swooped from the sky, spraying lasers on the street where they stood. The lasers hit the sand, and it leapt up like water from a pebble's fall. The people in the street started yelling. In a frantic mix of languages, they scrambled to evacuate the area.

He heard rapid footsteps behind him and felt his arm yank. "Come _on_," Theo said, as Anakin stumbled to his feet. "You're not going to get through by yourself."

The TIE fighter turned in the sky, and screamed towards them again for another pass. As Anakin ducked and ignited his lightsaber, it opened its throttles and green fire hit the sand around them.

"Come _on_!" said Theo.

The TIE fighter's lasers nipping at their heels, they stumbled towards the shipyard, running half-crouched in the throngs of rushing people. Anakin's blade slashed at stray bolts.

When they reached the shipyard, the TIE abruptly pulled up and halted its fire. Perhaps it was because the lasers would immediately cause the ships to combust, but Anakin doubted it. The more likely reason was that more clonetroopers would be there soon. They had to hurry.

"Here," said Theo as they sprinted to where the Imperial TIE fighters had been docked. "We'll take one of the fighters."

A fighter wouldn't get them out of the atmosphere. Anakin needed a hyperdrive.

The TIE fighter above came around for another pass, most likely to scare them, and they paused to duck under a ship's metal hull. Then, Anakin caught a glimpse of one of the modified TIE ships a row over—the TIE Advanced, equipped with a hyperdrive and streamlined to be fast.

"That one," he said.

"Let's go," said Theo. He started into a run, but Anakin grabbed his arm.

"You're not coming with me."

"What?"

"I _said_," said Anakin, a bit more firmly. "You're not going with me."

"You need me," said Theo. "And I could use a little help right now—"

"You're not coming."

"They do a retinal scan in the TIE Advanced," said Theo. "You won't be able to access it without a clone."

Anakin clenched his jaw. He was right. But he didn't know how long he could work with a clone, especially one who had killed Jedi. This one could have killed Aayla—

Theo's jaw hardened. "We don't have time—"

Something snapped inside of Anakin. His resolve, and a bit of his pride. "Fine. Get to the _kiffing_ ship," he retorted.

Theo hustled in front of him, but Anakin didn't wait. Bunching his muscles, he leapt up onto the TIE Advanced and used the Force to open the sealed cockpit. In the distance, he could see clones flooding into the shipyard.

"Lower the ladder!" shouted Theo's muffled voice below him. Anakin slid into the pilot's chair and hammered a button on the control panel. Theo clambered over the ship's side a few moments later.

"Raise the ladder," Theo said, panting in his ear.

"Just take care of the _kriffing _retinal scan," snapped Anakin. The approaching troops had already covered half the distance to the TIE Advanced.

Theo typed in a few codes, positioned his eyes for a scan, and a moment later the control panel lit up with red and yellow and black.

Anakin's muscle memory took over. His fingers danced over the controls, slamming a button here, pulling a lever there, and attaching the wires so the security systems would override. Soon, the ship rumbled beneath them, and the engine gears spun faster and faster.

They heard some small explosions on the outside, and the ship began rocking. They heard muffled shouting.

"Let's get off this blasted rock," Anakin said, bringing the levers down in full. The ship jerked a few times, and then rose, clipping a few other fighters as it sailed above Mos Espa.

"More TIE fighters in the sky," said Theo.

"I _see_ them," Anakin snapped, yanking on the ship's controls as the fighters swooped over the buildings towards them. They screamed by on their right.

"Get out of the atmosphere!"

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" snapped Anakin.

"I hope you know where you're going!"

"Sit down and shut your _chut_!"

Anakin swerved up, and acceleration held him in his seat as the ship swooped upwards. He heard a thump behind him and knew Theo had hit the back of the ship.

"Give me a warning next time!" Theo snapped, pulling on Anakin's chair as he climbed to the copilot's seat. He looked a little unwell.

As they continued to climb, the ship rocked violently, and Anakin glanced to the computer screen. Three red dots blinked on their tail. "Ships firing!"

Hitting the acceleration, he turned them in a barrel roll. The ship tossed and turned, and red lasers shot past their window. Held back in their seats, they watched as the sky began to lighten in the cloud layer around them. Only a few more kilometers until they could enter hyperspace.

More dots emerged on the map from the right. Anakin banked left. TIE fighters screamed to their right.

"Take the guns," he yelled at Theo, and the clone jumped. His hands fumbled for the copilot controls, sweaty and slippery.

6 kilometers until atmosphere exit.

Anakin accelerated up as a fighter came from underneath. Their ship's nose just missed the lasers, and for a while the two ships raced belly to belly.

Theo's knuckles looked white on the guns. His eyes had glued themselves to the enemy ship's clone pilot, who was so close that one could have leapt from one ship to the other.

5 kilometers.

The sky darkened around them—white to quickly darkening blue. They continued to race with the fighter beneath them.

4 kilometers.

Anakin swerved as the enemy fighter dropped back. And, all at once, they had a clear shot. They could finally get some of the fighters out of the sky.

Theo didn't shoot.

"What are you doing!" snapped Anakin.

"I—"

"Shoot them, dammit!"

Too late. As the sky darkened around them, three of the TIE fighters screamed into formation, grouping behind them. They opened fire, and Anakin swerved to the right.

3 kilometers.

Theo looked like he was about to be sick. He had another open shot, but didn't fire.

"Theo!"

2 kilometers. The fighters were closing in.

"Shoot them!"

The ship rocked as a few stray shots peppered its belly.

Anakin shoved Theo from his mind as his hands flew over the control panel. It didn't matter, anyway. In a moment they'd be out of there... He racked his brain for the coordinates Kitster had given him…

1 kilometer.

"Come on, come on." Anakin had to consciously loosen the grip of his mechanical hand on the controls to enter the coordinates.

The navicomputer confirmed their destination.

"Come on, come on!"

TIE fighters fell back a little, giving them a perfect window. Stars speckled the open space around them, clear of obstacles. If they could only get into hyperspace, the TIE fighters wouldn't be able to follow them…

Anakin slammed the hyperspace lever. Go!

Nothing happened. No familiar hyperspace lines took over their window. The ship just continued to rock as lasers peppered it.

"W—what?" he gasped.

"P—put the coordinates in!" Theo said.

"I did!"

"The ship's not moving!"

"I _know_!" snarled Anakin.

"We aren't entering hyperspace!"

Anakin slammed his fist down onto the control panel and practically fell out of the pilot's chair as he stood to make his way to the back. Shoving Theo out of the way, he stumbled towards the hyperdrive box on the far wall.

"I thought you picked a ship that would get us out of here!" Theo shouted after him.

"I didn't _intend_ for this to happen," he snarled over his shoulder. "Can I trust you not to kill us?"

Theo fell in the pilot's chair, and Anakin focused on keeping his balance and the hyperdrive box in sight.

He felt the ship swerve again as they almost clipped a fighter's wing. His shoulder slammed into the wall. Gritting his teeth, he used the remains of his strength to push himself upwards. Right now he could really go for one of Obi-Wan's hard liquors.

He found a disorganized collection of tools in a bag in the back, and, rummaging through it, he located a wrench and a few pliers.

The hyperdrive box sat rusted and wrinkled, so Anakin lodged the wrench between the box and its door and set all his weight against it. It creaked once, twice, and then the door began to give. When it finally fell off its hinges and clattered to the floor, Anakin analyzed the collection of knotted and frayed wires that sat inside. What he would do for Artoo in this moment.

The ship swerved again, more forcefully this time, and Anakin braced himself against the wall. He didn't have time for gloves, so he went straight at the wires with his bare hands. They stung him, and every few moments his hands shot back, but he managed to straighten the crooked wires and reattach the ones to the ship's hyperdrive.

"Hurry up!" Theo's voice shouted a minute later. "They're closing in!"

The hyperdrive box glowed green. The ship shook harder.

"Go!" yelled Anakin. "Go to hyperspace!"

He saw Theo's hands moving quickly over the control panel.

But then a strange blinking caught his eye. The computer beside the hyperdrive had opened a diagram of the ship, and a small green dot pulsated on the ship's belly. His stomach dropped inside of him.

"Stop!" he yelled suddenly. He recognized that signal anywhere. "Don't use those coordinates!"

"What?" shrieked Theo from the pilot's chair.

Hyperspace stretched around them in blue streaks, and Anakin stumbled back to the control panel.

"Stop!" he said. "Stop!"

"What?" yelled Theo.

Anakin shoved him out of the way and frantically began canceling their path. Padmé, the babies, the fledgling Alliance…

"You can't avert the hyperspace path—it'll cause massive damage on the hyperdrive—!"

"That's not my main concern!"

The ship shuddered, and the metal groaned. The frame around them shook harder, and harder…

Theo gripped the chair's handles. Anakin quickly typed in other coordinates. Anywhere else. _Anywhere_. They just couldn't end up where the Alliance was set to meet them.

The hyperspace warped, and the ship shuddered some more. Once Anakin was certain that they wouldn't be brought out into a black hole or meteor shower, he slowly lowered the lever. The ship slowed. Its shuddering lessened. Bit by bit, the black around them thickened, and the ship slowed to a drift. At the control panel, the navicomputer screen flickered and morphed. Anakin knew it would take some repairs before it was operational again.

"Why on the _three moons of Corellia_ was that necessary?" snapped Theo.

Suddenly weak at the knees, Anakin collapsed into the copilot's chair. Vast space spread around them. Stars speckled their window, and a black hole rested in the distance.

"Because," he said, "we're being tracked."


	5. Chapter 5

Two long and anxious days after their departure from Tatooine, Oomassa's transport came out of hyperspace at the meeting coordinates. And as Padmé set eyes on the ship waiting suspended in space there, she'd never been so grateful to see the familiar Alderanian corvette.

"It's the _Sundered Heart_," Oomassa murmured from the pilot's chair. "We made it."

Kitster's face looked blue in the light of the navicomputer. "If we weren't tracked," he murmured back.

Beside Padmé, the twins stirred in a padded crate. She adjusted the blanket over them. They'd recently been fed, so she didn't expect them to be hungry for a while, but it soothed her somewhat to know that they rested safely for the moment. Ever since Anakin had left, she'd been ceaselessly restless, and the soreness in her pelvic region and lower belly made movement painful.

Kitster turned to look at her from the copilot's chair. "Senator Organa'll understand your problem," he said. "He'll help Ani in any way that he can. I'll be sure to speak with him."

"I'd like to speak with him myself," Padmé said. "If I can."

Kitster glanced at Oomassa.

"I know the Senator," said Padmé, knowing that their uncertainty came from caution. "We're good friends."

Kitster's brow twitched dubiously. Padmé supposed it was about time that she could trust them.

"I'm a former Senator from Naboo," she said. "I've been friends with Bail for a long time. I was a founder and member of the Delegation of 2000."

Oomassa turned in her chair. "You're… not a Jedi?"

"No," she said. "I'm not."

"But your children—"

"I'd like to speak with the Senator personally," she cut in. "And plead my own case."

Oomassa shared another glance with Kitster, and they way her brows rose told Padmé that she doubted she would have much success. "I don't think he's going to like us waiting around for your Jedi friend."

Padmé just tightened her lips, and adjusted the twins' blanket once more.

Their ship docked under the _Sundered Heart _a few minutes later, and Oomassa and Kitster made their way to the docking platform.

Padme took the moment in the cockpit to calm herself. Standing slowly as to not aggravate her body's soreness, she pulled her sling over her shoulders and carefully lifted each sleeping baby into the pocket before her. Then, when she had made certain that her children had settled contently, she exited the cockpit and followed the former slaves from the holding area onto the corvette.

She found Kitster speaking with a man in a uniform—a uniform she recognized as one of Bail's security officers.

"Is that the one?" the man murmured to Kitster as she approached them, and Kitster nodded.

The man had a blaster on his side, and core a comm on his wrist. Padmé studied his pockets for bulges—anything that would mean grenades, thermal detonators, or weapons of the like. But he just looked looked clean and crisp, and smiled in greeting as Padmé drew level. "Welcome," he said. "I hear you've had a difficult few months. Please come with me. We'll get you and your droids situated."

She took a moment to adjust Luke and Leia in the sling, a bit reluctant to leave Kitster so quickly. Leia stirred under her hand.

"This is probably goodbye." Kitster passed her a reassuring smile. "If the ship wasn't tracked, I'll be returning to Tatooine after I speak with the captain. Organa still needs his shipments."

"Of course."

"I promise I'll keep a lookout for Ani. We'll find him."

She could sense the sincerity in his words. "Thank you," she said sincerely, and hoped he knew it, "for everything you've done."

"Of course," he said. He touched his forefinger and thumb to his heart. "May you find peace in your life."

"You as well," she said, repeating the gesture. Then she turned and followed the Alderanian officer farther into the corvette. White walls and the vague smell of bleach greeted her, perhaps made apparent through its contrast to the dark, gaseous transport she'd just disembarked. They headed down the hallway towards the cockpit.

"Your droids will be in the back for you to collect. You can rest in here," the officer said, motioning to a door about three-quarters of the way down. When the door slid open, and a figure rose from the table there. He wore brown Jedi robes, and brown boots, and his auburn beard had been neatly trimmed.

Padmé's chest constricted. "Obi-Wan," she breathed, relief spreading through her.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "Padmé?"

She didn't wait to greet him properly. She rushed to embrace him, careful not to crush the babies between them. His arms felt familiar and comforting, and for once in a long time, Padmé felt safe, as though she could surrender some of her worries and pain.

"Senator, I can't believe it… I was expecting a Jedi—all of Car'ina's reports said it was a Jedi in Tatooine's deserts—"

"I know," she said, grasping his arm. "I know—there's so much to tell you."

His eyes flickered briefly to the babies at her chest, but if he was confused, he didn't say anything. "I was hoping I would meet a friend," he said, with a small smile. "I'm so glad you're safe. So many have disappeared since Palpatine's reign…"

She nodded. "I know," she said again. "We've been running for months…" She didn't know where to start. She didn't know if he knew Anakin was the Jedi in the reports.

"I have so much to tell you," she said. But the ache in her belly intensified, and suddenly she needed a seat. "Please, I need to sit."

"You're in pain."

She took her time finding a place at the table, and relief instantly spread through her as she settled. Obi-Wan followed her lead, and she appreciated the moments to gather her thoughts as he grew comfortable. "I…gave birth a few days ago," she said when they had both fallen silent and still. "I'm still recovering."

His expression was blank for a moment, and his attention flickered to the twins again. "They're yours?"

"They are," she said, knowing he couldn't see the remnants of her stomach's curve underneath her shapeless tunic.

"I…didn't know..." His gaze, ripped from the twins, came up to meet hers in surprise, and she immediately knew where his thoughts had drifted.

"Anakin came with me," she confirmed softly. "He fled with me, and helped me give birth."

"Anakin?"

She nodded.

"He's… alive?" His voice sounded strained. She knew the pain well. She had seen it in Anakin's eyes when he'd learned Obi-Wan was alive, and had felt it in her own chest.

"I last saw him two days ago," she said, and, to her shame, her eyes suddenly felt warm. "He… separated with us to give us time to flee."

Obi-Wan was silent.

"He'll be okay," she grated out. "I'm going to speak with Senator Organa about locating him."

Obi-Wan watched Leia move and squirm in her arms. A vein tightened in his neck. "They're… Force sensitive."

Leia's tiny mouth opened and closed, and suddenly Padmé knew he'd known all along. "They are," she said quietly.

"Can I… hold them?"

She shifted the girl from the sling and passed her over. The infant settled easily in his arms, eyes gazing unfocused up at him. Obi-Wan's hand came down to touch her fist. There was something gentle in the contact that spread a warm feeling through Padmé's abdomen. Anakin would have wanted to be there.

"They look like him."

She nodded again, her throat too swollen to reply.

Obi-Wan's eyes glued themselves to Leia, who watched him as if he was her whole world. Her lashes blinked at him, and her fists bumped against his tunic. He took her wrist in his fingers. "What're their names?"

"Leia," she managed. "And Luke."

He nodded, and, as Leia's fingers wrapped around his index finger, he smiled up at Padmé. "They're beautiful," he said.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Senator Amidala." Bail Organa glanced soberly at Padmé and Obi-Wan as they walked from the _Sundered Heart _onto the senator's private docking platform on Alderaan. Around them, in the frosty Alderaan air, former slaves hustled to gather their things and follow the security officers from the area. Behind them at a distance, Threepio and Artoo exchanged playful banter.

"I can't risk going back to the coordinates," said Organa. "Kitster and Car'ina tell me that your escape was a close call this time. I can't risk sending my people out there when the coordinates could have been tracked—"

"Senator, this is one of the last Jedi in this galaxy," Padmé said, a bit frustrated at his lack of empathy. "You have the power to rescue him. As a friend of General Skywalker, you must consider his situation."

"I have others besides General Skywalker to think of, Senator Amidala," Organa said, snd he sounded weary. "I care about him, and all the Jedi. But with a rebellion in the making, I must take all the necessary steps to ensure that our plans are secure—"

She set a hand on the sling where her children slept, blissfully unaware of her mounting frustration to sway her former colleague. "Bail, I urge you to reconsider. General Skywalker may be the future of the galaxy. As the Chosen One of the Jedi, is he not the one said to bring balance to the Force?"

Organa's brows furrowed. "Padmé, you know I cannot put all my stock into a prophecy."

"It wouldn't be. Send an unmarked ship to meet him at the coordinates in three days. If it's sold on the way back, we can be sure it won't be tracked."

"Senator—"

"Or allow him to come straight to Alderaan."

"You know I cannot allow that. We've taken great precautions to ensure that the Empire doesn't track our routes here, and if Jedi are known to be on Alderaan, the Empire—"

"Kitster and Car'ina may well have been mistaken about being tracked in the first place."

"Skywalker will have more eyes on him than any of us."

"Bail, he's stranded out there."

"I'd prefer to keep my officers here to help with the Alliance."

"_I'll_ go, then."

"No, Padmé," said Obi-Wan suddenly. "You need medical attention before anything else."

Bail frowned inquisitively at her. "Padmé?"

She chose not to answer his unspoken question under her growing frustration. "Bail, please. Anakin's in danger—Obi-Wan—"

"Senator, if you need medical help," Bail said, brow furrowing, "I think that would be the best course of action."

"I'm going to go," she said firmly.

"Senator," said Obi-Wan. "For your children's sake, you should rest."

Bail's eyes flickered to the children in her sling, apparently having noticed Obi-Wan's possessive descriptor of the children, but he didn't react. Perhaps he had already known the truth.

"I can't," she said, "not until Anakin's safe."

"Senator," Bail said. "Please, care for yourself first—"

"I can't," she said. The pain beneath her belly increased, but frustration gave her enough strength to push on. "You don't understand."

"I'll find a nursemaid for the children—we can set up a room in the palace—"

"I'm not going to part from them," she interrupted firmly.

"Your children—"

"I _won't_ part from them. And I'll go after Anakin myself if I have to."

"You'd risk your life if you went after Skywalker," Bail said. "You're injured. Don't leave your infants. They need you—"

She could feel her face heating. "They're his children, too," she said. Bail withdrew—she could see the thoughts turning in his head. "Anakin's the father."

There was a moment of silence, and, as the babies stirred in her arms, Padmé took a moment to calm herself. "I need you to understand. I need my family safe. If Anakin reaches the coordinates and we aren't there, I don't know when we'll find him again. He could disappear like the rest…" He could show up _dead_, she meant, but she couldn't say it aloud.

Bail watched her for a long while, and she watched his brows relaxing, his jaw softening…

She allowed herself the faintest measure of hope.

"I can go in her place," Obi-Wan said eventually. "If you give me a ship."

Bail's expression deflated. "Master Kenobi…"

"I can't let him go like that."

Organa studied him for a moment, as if measuring his certainty. Then, he let out an almost inaudible sigh. "Let's speak with Senator Mothma about it," he said eventually. "And see what resources we can put together."

Padmé poured relief into the glance she shot Obi-Wan. She felt her body relax, and, suddenly, in the absence of her determination, the pain seemed all the more poignant.

"Let's head to the clinic," Organa said to her, and, at her nod, the three continued on.

* * *

The medical wing sat on a low balcony in Alderaan's palace, looking out over glassy lakes and snow-capped mountains. White tiles and soft blue made the room peaceful and calm, and, under the droids' gentle care, Padmé's night was more peaceful than it had been for months. She woke up to a steaming breakfast tray, the smell of fresh juice, and the assurance that her twins had been fed as she slept.

"I spoke with Senator Organa," Obi-Wan told Padmé when he visited later in the morning. He looked over at her from his spot by the twins' cot, Luke's fist wrapped tightly around his finger.

Padmé set aside her datapad. Flashing with the Empire's newest political advancements and wanted Jedi posters, the datapad had long grown repulsive to her, as had news of the escalating dictatorship fed by senators' greed. "Has he agreed to send ships?"

"It wasn't about Anakin," Obi-Wan said, and he seemed almost hesitant to continue. "It was… about your parents. And your sister."

Her stomach sunk a bit, the same feeling she had gotten when she saw Anakin's wanted posters. The little bit of peace from her night's rest melted away. "They… are they okay?"

"Some Imperials have been asking them questions, which, of course, they don't have the answers. Bail's men say they've been trying to get any scrap of information they can as to your whereabouts. They're very concerned."

"Did Bail tell them anything?"

"For your safety, and ours, he couldn't," Obi-Wan said.

She'd expected it, and knew it was for the best, but it didn't stop the feeling of immense disappointment and homesickness. Beside her bed, Artoo twittered sadly.

"You don't think Palpatine would go after them?" she said. "To interrogate them about my location? Palpatine knows Anakin and I are together. He knows Anakin's the father…"

"Does he know that they were two?"

She shook her head. "Not even we knew there were two."

Obi-Wan stroked his beard.

"Please tell me. Is my family in danger?"

His solemn gaze looked up at her. "I don't know."

She didn't like the uncertainty in that. "Do they sound well?"

"Bail said they sounded stressed."

She glanced over at the twins. Her family hadn't even known she was pregnant. She hadn't told anyone besides her handmaidens and Anakin. Hopefully they'd understand her actions had been for a reason.

"I know it's hard," Obi-Wan said. "I thought you should know."

She nodded, grateful for the news, however unsettling it was. Perhaps she could drop an anonymous note soon, and let them know that she was okay…

She heard the squeak of the medical bay doors, and turned to see the spindly medical droid who'd done examinations of Padmé and the twins all morning return with a datachip and two small vials of blood.

"The tests are complete," D-1B announced, and Obi-Wan set the datapad back down on Padmé's bed. "Would you like to view the results?"

Padmé forced herself to put all her tumultuous thoughts from her mind for the moment. "Yes, please," she said.

The droid's slender fingers slipped the datachip into the computer, then the vials of blood. The holoscreen lit up, displaying rotating graphs, and the graph pulsed with jumping lines and swirling colors. Padmé had no idea how to read it.

"Our computers had some difficulty reading the count in the subjects' blood samples," said the droid, "as some midichlorian levels can have adverse effects on the tests. Our calculations estimate that subjects One and Two possess extraordinary sensitivity levels, with populations of around twenty-thousand midichlorians per cell…"

She glanced over at Obi-Wan, whose jaw had hardened.

"These levels are highly uncommon in the galactic population today—"

"Thank you, that's enough," said Obi-Wan.

"Would you like me to update the records?"

"No," he said. "I'll take the chip. Delete the remaining records. Make sure there's no trace of them in the system."

"Yes, sir," D-1B said.

Obi-Wan accepted the datachip, and both waited until the droid had left the room.

"It's around where Anakin's is," Padmé noted, as Obi-Wan turned the datachip thoughtfully in his hands. The twins' abilities made their lives all the more dangerous, and she suspected the both of them didn't know whether to be grateful of or wary of their potential. Now it seemed like their whole family was a ticking time bomb.

"The technology wasn't strong enough to read his exact levels, either," Obi-Wan agreed. He snapped the datachip in his fingers.

"Palpatine'll put the pieces together."

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. "I think we'll have to be very careful."

The door slid open again, and they turned to watch Bail enter, followed by Threepio, a Togruta in long brown robes, and a familiar green alien with a twisted gimer stick.

"Master Yoda," Padmé said, unexpectedly grateful to see the familiar Jedi.

"Senator Amidala," rasped Yoda, pausing to smile at her over his cane. "Pleased to see you, I am."

"I hope we aren't intruding," Organa said.

"No," said Padmé, trying to place where she knew the Togruta's face. She could see a lightsaber at her hip and remembered Obi-Wan had mentioned Bail sheltering five Jedi on Alderaan. "Please, come in."

"Senator Amidala," the Togruta said, inclining her head in greeting. She had a calm voice, but one that emitted authority. "We have met before. My name is Shaak Ti."

"Welcome, Master Ti, Master Yoda," she said. "My deepest condolences for the deaths in your Order."

Ti didn't smile. "One hopes that this will not be the end of our ancient tradition."

"Senator, I hope you're feeling better?" Bail glanced around the wing, from the twins on the cot to Padmé's white gown. She subtly adjusted her gown over her still-swollen stomach, not knowing what Anakin's fellow Jedi knew of their relationship.

"Much better," she said.

"We have news that you'll be pleased to hear," he said. "Senator Mothma has agreed to loan us two starships to meet General Skywalker at the agreed coordinates. I will send some of my pilots as well."

Padmé straightened in her bed, trying to contain the relief she felt. "Thank you, Senator," she said. "It's good to hear that."

"Master Kenobi has agreed to go," Bail continued. "And Master Ti. We hope you will consider staying here to rest."

She was surprised to find a slight bit of disappointment creeping into her, and was immediately torn between the need to stay to protect her children and the need go out to help her husband. She glanced over to where Luke and Leia lay on the cot, their tiny hands and feet moving sporadically. They couldn't even sit up yet, and with their sensitivity levels so dangerously high…

"Your younglings, these are?" Yoda asked her.

She looked over at him, surprised by the directness of his comment. So far, people had been mostly avoidant of the topic. "They are."

"_Hmm_." His brow wrinkled at them in concentration. "Protection, they will need. Stay with them, you should."

Perhaps it was the glint in his eye, or the emphasis in his pointing gesture, but the Naboo Senator suddenly became aware that the Grand Master knew more than he let on. Knowing that her duty to them weighed more than her craving for action, she nodded her agreement.

"Too much attention, the Jedi here are drawing," Yoda continued solemnly to the group. "When Skywalker arrives in Alderaan, best, it will be, to scatter padawans and Jedi to other worlds."

Padmé watched the rest of the group acquiesce to the Grand Master's wisdom, and suddenly felt another worry root in her stomach. Silently replacing her anticipation for her husband's return was the sudden thought that her little family wouldn't stay together for long.

* * *

Anakin woke up to the dim lights of the TIE Advanced by a pair of hands roughly shaking him.

"General," the voice said. "General?"

He sat up in the pilot's chair, and as the hands retreated, he blinked back the shadows of his nightmare. He was with the clone from Tatooine. He'd just finished the repairs from their hyperdrive disaster. They were on their way to trade in the ship.

"You were screaming," Theo told him. He bent over him, looking pale. "Are you okay?"

"F—Fine," said Anakin.

"You sure?"

"I'm _fine_."

"That's the third time you've done this—"

Anakin couldn't help the return of his mounting frustration. He hadn't meant to fall asleep in the first place.

"I said, I'm _fine_."

Suddenly feeling self-conscious with Theo's gaze upon him and nothing to do, he reached between them and snatched the last bit of the rations. Trying to ignore how his hands shook and the wrapper crinkled, he shoved a bite of the protein bar into his mouth. It tasted like ash.

"What happened?" Theo's voice sounded low and careful.

Anakin looked at him, and saw that Theo's gaze had turned solemn. "What are you talking about?"

"You _know_ what I mean."

He knew that he couldn't ignore him when the clone had that kind of severity in his voice. "It's none of your _kriffing_ business."

"I think it is," Theo said. "You flinch every time you see me. It has something to do with Aayla Secura, doesn't it? You said my brothers were trying to kill you and the Jedi—"

"I don't want to talk about this," Anakin said.

"Because you can't talk about it—"

"Because I don't _want_ to talk about it."

"Well, maybe you should. I'm still in the dark—I don't know where the _kriff_ I am, what we're doing, and which side I'm on."

Anakin crushed the wrapper in his hands.

"Am I a Separatist now?"

Anakin whirled around to look at him, frustration peaking. "There _are_ no Separatists now," he snapped. "There's no Republic."

"What the _kriff_ does that mean?"

"What does it mean?" snapped Anakin. "Nothing exists anymore except the Empire, and the robotic clones that follow it. The Republic is dead. The Jedi Order is dead—"

"What the _kriff _are you talking about?"

"Chancellor Palpatine. He's responsible for all this. The greedy, manipulative—"

"All of what?"

"Your brothers—programmed to slaughter the Jedi Order." He flung the wrapper away.

Theo blinked at him.

"The only reason _you're_ not dead in the street where I found you is because your programming chip seems to be malfunctioning."

"I'm not malfunctioning."

"Let's hope you are," Anakin snarled.

"I… don't understand."

"Your _brothers_ led a slaughter through the Jedi Temple. Younglings, Padawans. They all died. Every single one of them."

Theo stared at him for a long time. "Y—you made it—"

"Because they _thought_ I was dead," Anakin snarled, deciding he was already sick of whatever the clone had to say. "I woke up to youngling brains blown out on my face and fire burning the bodies. How's that for nightmares? How do you think bodies smell when they're burned?"

Theo looked stunned.

"As for what you don't remember, Aayla Secura's probably dead in a ditch somewhere on Felucia."

The clone sat down hard in his seat. "How did this happen?"

"There's a chip inside your head. If you start functioning again… well, let's just say I'd prefer not to fly with a dead body in the back."

"I'm… not going to start functioning again."

"Good," said Anakin savagely.

Theo watched out the window, where the stars slowly moved. They were quiet for a long time, as Anakin brewed in anger.

"I… can't believe—"

"We have other concerns right now," Anakin interrupted. "Such as whether or not the Imperials managed to track the coordinates mid-hyperspace, and whether we're still being followed."

They fell into another long silence as they drifted through space.

"Are… you going to leave me at the next spaceport?" asked Theo.

"No," said Anakin. "I'm taking you with me. You know too much already."

"I don't know what those coordinates mean."

"You know they're important."

"I wouldn't turn you in—"

"It's too risky."

Theo looked annoyed. "When are you going to trust me?"

"When you have that chip removed from your brain."

"Surgery?"

"Not sure. There're some tools in the back if we're desperate."

Anakin wasn't completely serious, but he appreciated the silence his reply left in the cabin. Somehow, it was better to think when the world was calm and younglings weren't screaming in his head.

Pushing the thoughts away, he turned his attention towards the navicomputer. According to the map, they were only a couple parsecs from a spaceport on Kalarba, and he suspected they could land their TIE somewhere in away from civilization and purchase a new ship in Kalarba City. He didn't want to wait very long, especially with Imperials on their tails. The sooner they could reach Kitster's coordinates, the better.

It was four hours later, and with barely any conversation having been exchanged between them, that Anakin watched the navicomputer hone in on Kalarba City. The planet had been growing nearer and nearer by the minute, its vast blue and white surface swirling underneath them. Only ten minutes before, he'd felt the ship rattling as they entered the atmosphere.

He glanced over at Theo, who'd opened the TIE Advanced's emergency safety procedures manual to avoid conversation.

"Twenty minutes until landing," Anakin said, breaking the fragile silence between them.

The clone didn't acknowledge his words, but it didn't bother Anakin. He reached up and flipped the switch to start the landing preparation. Around them, the ship started to rattle again. Anakin suspected it might be a tricky landing, with such a thick cloud cover and their already damaged engines.

_Warning_, the navicomputer read, _strong gaseous winds. _

"Seatbelt," he said.

The ship's rattling tightened, and Theo finally set down the procedure manual to grope for the seatbelt near his waist.

They passed into the cloud cover, and the window before them was lost in white. Above them, the ship's frame creaked and shook. Anakin braced his feet on the ship's front and tried to read the tiny numbers unfolding on the navicomputer. Too fast. They were coming in too fast under the planet's tropospheric winds. He grabbed the ship's drag-flap lever and yanked it flat.

The ship jerked suddenly, and something orange and flaming blew by their window. "_Shavit_," Anakin said, fumbling for another switch. Hatches, did the ship have any hatches?

He pressed two of the most likely buttons, then tried pumping another, and restarting the landing cycle. Anything, really, to make sure they didn't crash on the planet's surface or combust from within.

Past the ship's window came more orange streaks, and the control panel suddenly felt hot under Anakin's fingertips. His hands slipped with sweat as he tried to restart the ventilation system. The ship's frame creaked ominously, quickly growing faint with the mounting pressure in the cabin, and he wiped his hands on his trousers and passed his sleeve across his dripping forehead. He knew, as he watched the cloud layer thin to green land below, that if nothing changed in the next minute, they would soon crash.

He pulled on the throttle with the strength that remained in his arms, and felt the pressure as the ship leveled an inch. The sound in the cabin suddenly muted.

Glancing in Theo's direction, he saw that the clone had gathered together the medical and survival kits, tying them to his chestplate, but had yet to fully fasten himself in.

"_Seatbelt_!" Anakin said, though he had no way to know if the clone could hear him. His words came out in a muted, indistinct mumble.

Theo's hands fumbled to knot the frayed seatbelt ends across his lap. His lips yelled something back.

The cloud layer disappeared, and Anakin could finally see the outline of trees and a river through the ship's shaking. The pressure on his ears and chest became immense.

The window cracked. The ship frame began to distort.

Theo was frantically trying to tell him something.

They were just above the trees.

In the trees.

Then, green met clouds and their seats dropped to the ceiling.

His heartbeat.

Fire.

And everything was black. 


	6. Chapter 6

Anakin blinked back the darkness, and soon became vaguely aware of a burning smell lingering in the air and blood pulsing in his head. Feeling intense pain shooting up his right thigh, he lifted his head to see that his legs pinned under a large piece of smoldering metal. Spikes of hot pain drove into his flesh, leaving him a bit breathless.

Half dreading what he might find underneath, he reached with the Force and lifted the metal off. It thudded to the ground a few meters away, and he sat up and pulled his legs out from underneath. His right leg, exposed by a rip on the thigh part of his trousers, had been severely burned by the touch of hot metal. The skin had been broken and scorched. He applied pressure, but it did little to relieve the pain.

"Theo?"

Around him, the shell of the TIE Advanced sat scorched and blackened. Careful not to be rough with his leg, he slowly rose to his feet and hobbled across the creaking metal.

"General?" a muffled voice came from somewhere to his left.

Sensing the clone's presence nearby, Anakin rounded a piece of twisted metal to see a scorched suit of armor lying half underneath the control panel.

"Good," Theo said, looking very glad to see him. "You're alive."

Theo looked okay, though most of his body had been buried underneath the collapsed panel. Anakin was ashamed at the relief he felt at seeing the clone alive.

"It looks worse than it is," Theo said. "The armor served its purpose. I'm just pinned down."

Shoving down the sickening feeling in his stomach, Anakin reached for the control panel through the Force, and slowly lifted it off of Theo. The clone stood slowly, revealing his newly cracked and scorched armor.

"Better take that off," Anakin murmured, shakily sitting down on the closest piece of debris so his leg would stop throbbing. They couldn't go strolling into any city with armor like that.

Theo looked reluctant, but he peeled off the cracked pieces one by one.

"Where's the survival kit?" Anakin asked him. They needed the compass, and the flares, and tools for potential overnight living…

Theo shook his head. "I have the medical kit, though," he said, reaching down to where his feet had been. He pulled out a burnt looking box. "Maybe we should use it on your leg?"

"I don't need it," said Anakin, a bit sharply. Ignoring the dubious look on Theo's face and the throbbing as he put weight on his leg, he rose to his feet. "I know the way."

Theo didn't say anything, and Anakin passed by him to peer out into the extensive fields of Kalarba. He knew the city rested somewhere north of where they had crashed, just less than ten miles away. As long as they could get there in a half a day, they would be able to make it to the coordinates in time to meet with Padmé and Kitster…

Anakin soon became aware of a rustling sound behind him. Looking back, he saw the clone studying the medical kit's contents, combing through gauze and ration bags.

"I _said_ that I didn't need it," Anakin said, sharply.

"Forgive me, sir," Theo said. He tucked it under his arm. "It'll be my responsibility."

Anakin saw how Theo's jaw had grown firm, so he decided to let it be. Somehow he couldn't find the energy to argue.

Theo followed him from the ship's wreck.

* * *

The next few hours brought increasing pain in Anakin's leg. Within two hours of walking, it was pulsing with heat. In three hours, blistering and oozing had begun wetting his trousers, and the fields had begun to rock back and forth under the burning day. Then, the fields became a mirage, beautiful and fluid and like the waters of Naboo and Anakin had to remember that he was in pain…

Theo's voice broke through the haze. "Sir," Theo said. "Sir, I really think—"

The world tipped, and with nothing to grasp, Anakin crumpled in the grass. The fields disappeared for a moment, and strong hands grasped his shoulders and pushed him flat on his back.

"No," he said. He didn't need Theo's help, he needed to find Padmé—

"Sir…"

"No—"

Calloused hands held him down, and sky and grass mingled in the dark blur of his eyes. He felt pressure on his leg, and pain shooting up and around the wound. It pulsed hot, like searing vibroblades were continuously being pushed into his body.

He heard the click of the medical kit, and saw the flash of a long, white fabric. Theo bound fabric around his leg.

"Come on, sir," he said. "We're stopping in a clinic as soon as we get to the city."

"Three days," said Anakin, as Theo swam above him. "No…"

"Please rest for the moment," Theo said, holding Anakin's shoulders down. "You're not well, sir."

"Ship, we need a ship…"

"Sir, rest for a little while."

"Only three days…"

"Sir, it's important that you're healthy."

"No," said Anakin, struggling harder. "Padmé…"

His pain spiked as Theo knotted the bandage, his vision swam, and the fields disappeared.

* * *

Padmé rose from the couch, setting her datapad down on the glass table. The screen had been opened to one of Anakin's old "Hero With No Fear" shots, scripted over by bolded words: "Treason," "Slander," and "Conspiracy Against the Empire." _For capture, only_, it read.

She hadn't yet found the spirits to appreciate the irony.

"Wanted for one hundred thousand credits," Bail Organa said from somewhere behind her, and Padmé quietly remembered what Kitster and Oomassa had said about the other Jedi's bounties being around thirty thousand. "And Palpatine wants Skywalker alive."

Palpatine still had plans for Anakin, after all this time. Wanting suddenly to put distance between her and her datapad, she paced to the window to stare out over Alderaan's snow-capped mountains and winding lakes. Folding her arms across her chest, she gazed down at the docking platform, where attendants in blue jumpsuits hustled to fuel ships. Obi-Wan and Shaak Ti were planning to leave later that day for the coordinates, Padmé wondered if one of the corvettes or freighters below would be the one to make the trip.

"He'll be difficult to capture alive," Organa said behind her, as the comm on his desk chimed. She turned to see him lay a finger on it. "In the short term, we can hope it'll buy us more days to reach him."

Up popped the small blue figure of a man in uniform.

"Sir," said the figure.

"The reports?" Bail asked, and the man straightened.

"We've followed through, and completely lost contact with Senator Fang Zar or Senator Bana Breemu. The spies report that they've gone missing from Coruscant—no one has seen them in over a week. Palpatine is planning on replacing them in the Senate."

"Thank you, General," Bail said, jaw firm. "The details?"

"I've sent them, sir," he said, saluting and winking out.

Bail turned to her, shoulders a bit more slumped than usual. "I don't suppose you've heard it on the holonews," he said. "Everything's being censored by the Empire."

"Senators are disappearing," she finished, somehow unsurprised but immensely saddened by the news.

He nodded. "Concentrated in the Delegation of 2000. It's what we believed had happened to you, until, well…"

Outside, the mountain ranges stretched far and wide, a majestic and gentle cradle for the city. It seemed almost sacrilegious to speak of such atrocities on such a peaceful sanctuary.

"I may have to suggest that Masters Ti and Kenobi split up on the mission to meet Master Skywalker," he said. "If I am called to take the rescue mission for Fang Zar and Bana Breemu, the Alliance will want a Jedi for the job." His finger grazed the ledge of his desk, and his voice grew suddenly soft and pensive. "The Jedi've been indispensible throughout; I have rarely had officers who can match their stealth."

"I understand," Padmé said softly. They couldn't afford to mess such a mission up, not when Senators Zar and Breemu served as the Alliance's links to the Sern and Humarine Sectors. "It's best to send whoever will do a successful job."

"I hope we will reach General Skywalker, Padmé," Bail said, and the look he gave her was sincere. "I may be overstepping my boundaries by saying this, but I know how much you care for him."

"We're old friends, Bail," she said simply. "I know you've suspected for a long time."

Bail didn't say anything in that minute, but she didn't feel like he had to. The peace of mutual acceptance spread over their silence, letting her breathe for the moment.

"I'll warn some of my rebel cells in the area," he promised her eventually. "Let them know that there may be a Jedi in need of help."

Drawing beside her at the window, he continued, "They'll already be on alert. With the Empire monitoring all our movement, it's becoming harder to smuggle supplies and weapons back and forth to Dantooine. All our ships are boarded, now."

She could understand why he worried so frequently about the rebel base. "And this is how Palpatine justifies the arresting and disappearance of Delegation senators."

"Palpatine doesn't have to justify anything," he said. "No one talks about it in the Senate, because no one is sure who will be next."

She didn't feel surprise at that. It seemed that everywhere they looked, the little autonomy left had been restrained by fear. "There is no democracy left in the galaxy," she said.

He looked grim. "Things may well darken soon," he said. "If the reports are right, Queen Apailana's defiance will lead to Imperials crawling about Alderaan, too. If I am arrested, I will need you to protect the Alliance with Senator Mothma in my stead."

She nodded, telling herself that it wouldn't happen but unable to suppress the growing feeling that galactic forces were about to coalesce.

* * *

The first thing Anakin became aware of was that his stomach ached, and something was digging into his ribs and gut. He was bouncing… somewhat. And there was grass and something moving beneath him.

"Wha…?"

"Don't move too much," said Theo's voice somewhere very close by, and Anakin realized he was upside down and staring at a belt and blaster. He slowly lifted his head and felt the blood rush out of his face.

"Was I… unconscious?" he asked. His leg throbbed, and the knowledge that the clone had been carrying him on his shoulders for Force knew how long made him extremely uncomfortable.

"Two hours," said Theo, voice slightly strained. He slowly bent, and Anakin took the cue to slide from his shoulders. "And you probably won't remember this later."

As he settled on the ground, the world became unsteady again, and nausea made Anakin have to lie completely flat. Theo bent beside him and Anakin felt tugging on the bandage around his leg. Theo's face focused and unfocused.

"What…?"

"Changing your bandage," the clone said. "We don't want your burn to get infected."

Anakin tried to tell him that he would be okay, but it came out in a mumble and Theo peeled the layers off anyway. Anakin gritted his teeth in pain.

"We'll have to do this quickly," Theo said. "We're going to lose hours unless we move quickly."

Anakin waited until the pain had subsided before he trusted himself to open his mouth. "Wrap it tightly," he said.

"You're not going to be able to walk on it," Theo said.

"Add a cast."

Watching him warily, Theo snapped open the medical kit. He pulled out the clay casting materials, and though he didn't try to argue with Anakin, he did give him a dubious glance.

Theo poured the water rations into the clay and stirred the thickening substance. "Told you we might need this," he said in a low voice.

Anakin didn't try to contradict him.

"There's some pain medication in here, too," he said, leaving the hardening clay to unwrap Anakin's old bandage.

"No," said Anakin suddenly.

Theo looked up at him. "You're going to need it if you want to walk on that leg."

"No, thanks."

"Why won't you take it?"

Because he didn't trust Theo. He couldn't stop seeing clones mowing down Jedi in his mind. Fighting back more nausea, he pressed his lips firmly together.

"Why don't you want it?" Theo asked again.

Anakin remained silent.

"It's because I'm a clone," he said. "That's it, isn't it?"

Theo continued work silently for a moment, and then said, "You're going to have to start trusting me."

"I don't."

Theo's eyes flickered up.

"Not as long as you have that chip in your head," Anakin said.

Theo discarded the old bandage, which came off with a slight smell, and reached for a fresh one. "I count myself lucky," Theo said after a long while. "My brothers are being cheated, and I was able to escape."

Anakin remained silent.

"Don't forget that my brothers have been wronged, too," Theo said quietly, holding the fresh bandage in place. He slowly wrapped the new one around Anakin's leg.

Anakin clenched his jaw, not willing to let go of his anger to forgive them. His leg throbbed with pain as Theo worked around the area.

"I'm AWOL now," Theo said. "You have to realize that. They won't take me back even if I try. I want to go with you to this… Alliance."

"You're going to be locked away," Anakin told him harshly. "They'll probably operate on you."

"I'd want them to," Theo said. "I want the chip out of me."

Anakin didn't say anything, just sat still and felt his heart and leg pounding.

"I know that what happened was wrong."

"You don't even remember it."

"I see the way you look at clones. You told me about the… Purge. You have nightmares constantly. I know—"

"Stop," said Anakin. "Stop, please."

Theo silently reached for the clay plaster, and Anakin breathed through the tightness in his chest.

* * *

Screaming as they descended on Alderaan's capital, seven TIE fighters and six Imperial transports zoomed by the palace's tall spires and lowered themselves into the royal docking platform. Before the steam had even finished curling, Bail Organa's secretary's comm chimed, and the old secretary quickly made his way to Organa's private quarters.

"Senator," the secretary announced to the broad room where Bail and Padmé pored over a hologram map of the Alliance base on Dantooine. "Imperials have docked at the palace."

They straightened abruptly, and Bail quickly pushed the power button on the hologram map. They'd come to arrest Bail, just as he'd predicted.

"Don't resist," he instructed him as they quickly moved towards the room's exit. "But slow them down as much as possible to give us time."

When the datachip ejected, Bail slipped it into Padmé's hand, and at once the weight of all the rebel cell locations and smuggling routes was in her palm. The old secretary exited, and suddenly they were alone.

"Ready a corvette to take you, Master Yoda, and the padawans off-planet," he said to her. "I'll send a pilot to meet you in the docking bay."

"We can't go to Naboo."

"No," Bail agreed. "It's too risky with Apailana's revolts. Head to the Alliance on Dantooine. Senator Mothma will meet you there to show you how to access these plans."

"Obi-Wan and Master Ti?"

"I'll send word. They'll have to split up and leave immediately for Skywalker and the arrested senators."

They paused at the doorway, ready to part ways. Padmé glanced down the hallway to see it was empty, perfect for a quick escape.

"Will you be okay?" she said.

"It doesn't matter at the moment," he said. At her dubious expression, he told her, "There're more important things to worry about now. We knew there might be some sacrifices along the way."

"They're going to keep you in Coruscant," Padmé warned. "They'll ask you questions about the Alliance."

"I knew that when I decided to stand with democracy," Bail said. They both glanced out of the window to see tiny clonetroopers down on the pavement beneath them, marching towards the palace doors. "Take the plans and go. Be safe."

Tucking the datachip on the pocket inside her jumpsuit vest, Padmé followed the carpeted passageways back to the private chambers that had been provided for her. When the door sprung up to the ceiling, Bail's wife met her at the threshold.

"Bail left me a message," Breha said, grasping Padmé's forearms and pulling her into the room where no one could overhear them. A few meters away, Artoo and Threepio watched them approach in silent solemnness. "I'm sorry you have to go. I've just laid your twins down."

"Thank you for watching them," Padmé said, trying to pour as much gratitude as she could into her words. Giving Breha's arms one last squeeze, Padmé moved quickly over to the bassinet. Her tiny infants lay side by side, their scrunched red faces peeking out from behind Breha's unused baby clothes. Their eyelashes rested on pristine cheeks.

"They just fell asleep," Breha said softly.

She watched their tiny bellies slowly rise and fall, in their tiny oasis of peace, and suddenly it pained her to think of disturbing them. The palace on Alderaan was the first time they had found quiet in their short lives, and taking them with her would mean she wouldn't know when they'd next be safe.

Their hands were scrunched in tiny fists. She brushed her thumb over Leia's knuckles, and the infant didn't stir, caught in the bliss of her dreams. And suddenly, Padmé couldn't reach down to pick them up.

Breha stood there quietly, her fingers grazing the bassinet lace. Padmé knew about her and Bail's struggle to have a child. It was the reason Breha had so many baby clothes, and why Padmé had dusted the bassinet before placing her children inside.

Artoo cooed beside her.

"Will you be staying here?" Padmé asked her, her eyes glued to the twins' little bodies.

"The Empire might seize control," Breha said, "and force Bail to Coruscant, but they won't overthrow us here. We're loved here, and the Empire can't risk Alderaan's citizens revolting."

"You'll be safe?"

"My husband is the one endangered, not me." Her slender finger reached out and hovered over Luke's tiny foot, as if waiting for something.

Padmé finally looked up at her, and something passed between the women then that made Padmé certain of what she had to do. She had a duty to democracy, one that she could not avoid, and she also, perhaps more importantly at the moment, had a duty to keep her children safe. Past the mounting pressure in her throat, she said, "Will you… take care of them?"

"They will be safe with me." Breha met her gaze unwaveringly, and Padmé found a promise there that gave her the strength to withdraw her hand.

Luke and Leia didn't stir as she retreated from the bassinet. "Make sure Palpatine doesn't find them," she whispered.

And, her chest tight, she left them sleeping under the lace overhang.

* * *

She could hear clonetroopers running down the palace's halls by the time that she met the padawans and Yoda in the southern docking platform. The two rather lost-looking padawans—a human boy and a male Nautolan aged fifteen and eleven, respectively—nearly jumped when she came around the corner of the nearest ship.

"Senator Amidala," Yoda greeted her, as she fell in pace with his gimer cane. "A pleasure for you to join us, it is."

"Master Yoda," she said, taking out the blaster of her belt. "Senator Organa has set aside a corvette to take us offplanet."

"And offplanet we must go," Yoda agreed. "Welcome here, the Jedi are no longer."

Through the ships and crates, Padmé could see clonetroopers jogging into the docking bay, so they hastened to the corvette. Padmé unlocked the loading ramp, and waited for Master Yoda to lead the way, tailed closely by his two padawans.

"Senator," said a sudden voice, and Padmé whirled at the base of the ramp to see Obi-Wan walking quickly towards her, his lightsaber hilt and a radio headset in his hands.

"Obi-Wan!" He was supposed to be boarding a starship to meet with Anakin—

"The stormtroopers have just arrested Bail," Obi-Wan told her. "They're taking him to Coruscant for questioning."

"I know, I know, I just left his office…"

"I hope you're leaving as soon as you can," Obi-Wan said. "The Alderaan people are growing angry, and the Imperials won't be making just one arrest today—"

"Breha, is Breha…?" interrupted Padmé, filled with a sudden horrible thought.

"They decided to leave her here," Obi-Wan said. "It's Bail I'm concerned about."

She could hear clone footsteps growing closer, and helmeted voices shouting orders to each other. She and Obi-Wan didn't have much more time.

"I left the twins with her," Padmé said quickly. "Tell Anakin. And tell him we're headed to the Alliance."

"The plans. Did Bail…?"

"He gave them to me," she said, feeling the weight of the datachip in her breast pocket. "He knew this might happen."

Clone footsteps fell louder and heavier now. "Look over there!" shouted one of the clones, and Padmé and Obi-Wan ducked into the ship's shadow to buy a few last private moments.

"Is Anakin—?"

"I'm going to meet him at the coordinates on the _Desert Scraper _with a few of Bail's pilots," Obi-Wan said, turning his lightsaber hilt in his hands. "Master Ti's headed to find the arrested senators—"

Across the hangar, Padmé could hear a ship engines rumbling and the clones beginning to shout at one another as they realized the takeoffs had not been sanctioned. The footsteps grew too close for comfort…

Padmé felt Obi-Wan begin to pull away, but she gripped his arm to keep him one final moment. "Tell Anakin where we are, and that the twins are safe—"

"I will," Obi-Wan said. "He's out there still, I know it."

They parted then, as clonetroopers thundered towards them, and Padmé couldn't wait to see if Obi-Wan made it to his ship. She bounded up the loading ramp and slammed the lift button.

The ship's engines rumbled to life beneath her.

"Take off!" Padmé called down the curving hall to whoever had taken the pilot's chair. She quickly rounded the corner to the cabin. "They're closing in."

To her surprise, she found neither Yoda nor the padawans in the pilot's chair. Instead, a Zabrak with orange skin turned to face her.

"I'm out of work for the next few weeks," Oomassa said. "Something about Imperials tracking my Tatooine mission." Her mouth tightened in what might have been a half-smile. "Welcome to the _Astral Miner_. Organa mentioned you might be needing help."

* * *

Kalarba's City consisted of a collection of squat, square buildings that had no distinctions from one another and let in rectangular amounts of suns' light. Anakin couldn't be sure whether it was the warmth from the buildings' plaster, the uniformity of all the streets they passed, or the discomfort from his injury that caused his vision to swim, but by the time they had trekked halfway into the city, every inch of his skin pulsed with heat and his throat turned with nausea. Every now and then, he had to lay a hand on a wall to steady himself. The cast had made it possible for him to walk, but weakness still made his legs shake.

"General, I still think painkillers'd be a good idea," Theo said somewhere behind him as Anakin paused yet another time to let Kalarba settlers pass on the narrow streets.

Anakin didn't trust himself to open his mouth. Instead, he set his forehead against a building's wall, feeling the shadow's coolness for a moment. It did a little to soothe the radiating heat in his body.

"It'll be at least two days before we reach the coordinates, and at least a half-hour before we reach the clinic."

No, they weren't stopping at the city clinic. Anakin had thought his strong opinions on the matter had already dissuaded the clone. Apparently not. "We're not stopping," he managed.

"Sir—"

"The shipyard."

"With respect—"

"_No_."

Theo looked annoyed. "You're going to kill yourself if you continue like his. You'll get an infection, or you'll get sick."

Anakin ignored him, pushing off the wall.

"Someday," Theo said angrily, "you'll have to admit that you're not okay and you need help."

Anakin didn't grace him with an answer.

They found a shipyard wedged between the nearest power station and a boarded-up bar. Ducking away from the eyes on the street, they pushed aside the flap of barbwire at the entrance and gazed upon the expanse of ships inside.

Sunlight glared off the rusted metal, and Anakin, taking the moment of pause to shakily wipe the sweat beads from his forehead, squinted past the haze of heat to the selection before him. They'd have to nick a ship with a hyperdrive, if any were in working order.

"That one," he said hoarsely, pointing to a small shuttle in the shipyard corner.

It looked worn and old, and—like the others around it—its metal pieces barely held together. As Anakin limped to it, practically dragging the pulsing weight of his leg, he could spot scorch marks on the ship's wings and underbelly, and wires sticking out of a torn piece of metal on the nose.

"It's junk," said Theo, running his hand over the wing.

It was in better condition than some of its counterparts, with metal flanks peeled back to reveal rusted engines. "It'll run," Anakin said. He shakily strained for the control box on the ship's nose, but soon a surge of dizziness warned him against such exertion.

"I'll hotwire it," Theo said, moving in to relieve him.

Anakin allowed his arms to drop, sated with weariness, and he found the release for the loading ramp. He gripped the gears to steady his spiking nausea. "I'll be…"

"Inside," Theo finished. "I'll join you."

If Anakin had the strength he might have shot some type of criticism at the clone, but the fever in his body had sapped him of all focus. He placed a hand on the wall of the loading ramp and began dragging his leg up step by step.

Then, halfway up, he paused. In the haze of his mind, he could feel a presence approaching them quickly. Trouble.

"Someone's coming."

Theo's head shot up from underneath the control box. "What? Who?"

"Hide—"

Theo had no time to hide. A second later, a Trandoshan dressed in a mechanic jumpsuit rounded the side of the ship. He started at the sight of the clone, and his blaster jumped into place. "Who're you?"

Theo stared. "Uh."

"What're you doing?"

"Nothing," Theo said. "Repairs."

"Step away from the ship," the Trandoshan growled. "_Now_."

Theo's jaw hardened, and before Anakin could intervene, he whipped out his blaster and pointed it at the mechanic's head.

The shot echoed through the shipyard, and the Trandoshan crumped to the concrete. Suddenly, Anakin had to sit.

He heard the click of the control box closing, and the rustle of fabric against metal. "The ship's hotwired. We should go. General?"

"Right," Anakin said, forcing himself to look up. He tried to stand, but his muscles shook underneath him.

Theo slid Anakin's arm over his neck, and Anakin felt instant relief on his casted thigh. They both stood.

"Who knows if the ship'll actually fly," Theo said, as the metal floors creaked under their boots. "Let's just hope our luck gets better."

* * *

The _Astral Miner's_ floors rumbled underneath the pilot's cabin as Padmé checked the navicomputer's position on Dantooine.

"Three hours to go," she spoke into the cabin's blue haze. On the control panel, steadily blinking lights answered her.

Oomassa, her sole companion in the cabin, picked the dirt from her boot with a knife. "Imps'll probably follow us here too, eventualy," she said.

It hadn't been her first dire prediction since they left Alderaan, and Padmé couldn't help feeling as though she had been through this before. "We have nowhere else to go," Padmé said.

"There's always somewhere else to go," Oomassa said.

A clump of dirt dropped to the floor. The silver point of the knife gleamed against the brown leather.

"Imps are getting smarter," Oomassa said. "It's amazing how you people risk your skins like this. Facing slave traders is one thing, facing an Empire is another."

Padmé didn't like the casualness in her tone. "We have a duty to democracy and the Republic," she said. "It's our job to get there as soon as we can."

"We're going to run into Imps at some point, mark my words."

Blue hyperspace lines flew past their blastshield, and Padmé lost herself in them for a moment. If Imperials had tracked them this time, there was a big chance that they'd be meeting them there with more guns than the fledgling Alliance could manage. If they weren't waiting there already.

"It's a bad idea sending Kenobi out for Skywalker."

Oomassa's eyes followed her knife along the grooves. They didn't rise to drive her words, but her mouth hardened into a firm line.

"It wasn't," Padmé said, just as firmly.

There were her eyes, like a hawk's. "He's your lover. Of course you say that."

The cabin dissolved into silence. The lights on the control panel blinked slowly. Instead of forming a reply, Padmé thought of Anakin, somewhere out in the vast expanse of space, and of her twins, tucked under their lace bassinet in Alderaan's palace.

A comlink chimed in the cabin. Oomassa leaned forward to check the code.

"Master Ti," she said, and Padmé shifted forward. Perhaps the Jedi had news of Bana Breemu and Fang Zar, or, better, of Senator Organa. They needed some good news…

With a flicker of blue, the holo bust of the familiar Togruta popped up on the transmitter. Her gaze looked solemn.

"Captain, Senator," she greeted them. Then, a respectful nod to somewhere just off Padmé's elbow. "Master Yoda."

Starting a bit at the presence she hadn't felt drawing beside her, Padmé turned to see the Grand Master hobbling up to the holo.

"_Hmm_. Master Ti," he said, folding his fingers over his gimer stick. "News, have you?"

"Yes, Master Yoda," Ti said. "I'm afraid it's not good. I'm en route to Coruscant and have just received word from Organa's sources there. Breemu and Zar have been charged with treason against the Empire."

The tips of Yoda's ears twitched as he frowned.

"They were executed yesterday, along with the rebels accompanying them," Ti said, and Padmé reeled.

Executed? On whose authority? Palpatine couldn't have possibly seized so much control that he could take lives with the Senate instate—private execution or not, word would get out. Did Palpatine have so much power that exposure wasn't an issue? It meant that all Senators were at risk. Mon Mothma included, and especially Bail Organa. It may be Bail's execution that they would be hearing next.

She thought of Bana's steady spirit and Fang's unwavering devotion and couldn't express the devastation and utter disbelief she felt. They had lost two valuable members of the Alliance and Delegation, and possibly their connections to the Humbarine and Sern Sectors.

Confirming Padmé's suspicions, Ti continued, "Organa's sources believe that when he sets foot on Coruscant, he'll be tried as well."

"Executed, you think he may be?" said Yoda.

"Yes, Master," said Ti. "Palpatine wants to control any uprisings before they happen. He's looking to privately replace any senators who oppose him."

"Puppets, they all are," said Oomassa darkly.

"_Hmm_," Yoda said, running a long nail over his lips. "Drastic measures, we may need. With caution, we must proceed to Dantooine."


	7. Chapter 7

The shuttle from Kalarba's shipyard held up under the strain of hyperspace, but Anakin could barely move from his prostrate position on the ship's floor. Entering the ship's coordinates had been the final tax on his system, and now every jerk of the ship made him feel like his torn insides would leap from his mouth. With chills having settled in his body, the cold of space did nothing to keep him from trembling uncontrollably.

"We're almost at the coordinates," Theo's voice said, somewhere far off. A dark figure sitting along a lit panel reached for him. "Don't sleep, General. You're going to need to do the talking." Something gripped his shoulder. A hand.

Anakin blinked back the haziness. "Theo?"

"Sir," the figure said, coming into focus, "you can sleep once we dock. Please, try to hang on."

"Where are we?"

"Coming out of hyperspace," Theo said.

He heard the click of the lever. Little by little, the ship gears slowed beneath him, until the hyperdrive's whirring had stopped. Finally, he could be with Padmé and Obi-Wan and the twins. He could already taste the softness of Padmé's lips and feel the brush of her curls against his neck…

Everything had fallen silent. Eerily silent. The Force stirred, and the current felt… cold.

"Theo?"

"There's… nothing here," Theo said quietly.

"What?"

"There's nothing here. Where—"

The floor jolted suddenly, violently. The ship jerked, and Theo let out a stream of curses, hands leaping to the controls.

"What—who—" He paled as the ship swung around. "General! TIE fighters! Imperial fighters coming in!"

The controls jerked left, the ship swung left, and red lasers shot past their right window.

"I can't believe—" He lunged for the guns. Outside, two giant warships crawled towards them, casting long, terrific shadows.

The ship jerked up, and Anakin struggled to rise. The engine churned beneath his palms, laboring under the strain. The floor rocked.

"Shields! Does this _karking_ shuttle have shields?"

"How—?" Anakin whispered. They couldn't have been tracked—they'd diverted their course to ensure it—it was why they'd taken the blasted detour to Kalarba in the first place...

The Imperials must have tracked an earlier ship, must have known these were meeting coordinates—

Padmé. The twins.

"Sir!" Theo said, spinning around in his seat. "We need to get out of here! They knew—they must have known!"

Anakin struggled to rise, the oxygen in the cabin suddenly feeling thin.

"Half a fleet's waiting!"

Theo brought the ship in a barrel roll, flinging him against the wall His stomach churned so violently that he had to clench his lips to keep the vomit from escaping.

Theo held the ship tight as a TIE fighter screamed past. And another. Lasers peppered their ship and the frame shuddered. "Blast it—we can't match this many—"

"Calculate the jump," Anakin managed.

Theo slammed the lever as they shot into a climb. "To where?"

"Anywhere—"

Their ship jerked again, and a siren went off in the cabin. Lights flashed.

"Dammit," said Theo, hands dancing over the controls. "Dammit! Alright, Corellia—we're going to Corellia!"

The hyperdrive picked up beneath them, and the ship started shaking. Above them, the metal frame creaked, crumpling in on itself.

C—_criiick_. Lines grew on the windshield, like tree roots.

"The ship can't take it!"

Smoke billowed out of the hyperdrive's compartment, and Anakin instantly recognized the sulfuric smell of hydraulic fluid. He knew what it meant—the hyperdrive was overheated. Someone needed to fix it, or they wouldn't get out of there alive.

Bracing his palms against the walls and struggling to steady the trembling of his legs, he strained for the hyperdrive compartment. It felt so far away. The ground rocked.

His vision blurred, and for a moment in time that could have been a minute or an hour, nothing registered at the tips of his fingers. The ship shuddered. Hazy lights blinked outside their window. Everything went dark. He felt pain in his shoulder.

Then, he was lying on the shuttle's floor again. Lifting his head, he saw that the hyperdrive compartment was in reach. He swallowed past the ash in his sandpaper throat and strained towards it. If only he could get the compartment open and the hyperdrive functional…

The latch burnt his fingers as he fumbled with the door, and when he finally wrenched it open, so much smoke billowed out that he knew immediately that it would take more than some cooling off for it to become operational. He leaned in and examined the scorch marks marring its side. Perhaps if he scraped off the ash, he'd be able to see if at least the wires were salvageable—

With a hiss of pain, he withdrew with burnt finger pads. Crumbling ash revealed split and frayed wires with jumping sparks. Even if they managed to cool the machine, the wires had been damaged beyond repair. The hyperdrive wouldn't work again.

The ship had nowhere to go. They were going to die.

The ship shuddered under enemy fire, and Anakin could do nothing but stare at the scorched hyperdrive and breathe past the billows of smoke. From the way the ship's parts creaked with each maneuver, he knew they wouldn't last more than a quarter hour before they broke apart, if a fighter didn't down them first.

He slumped to the ground. Heat pulsed at his back.

"Skywalker?" Theo shouted back. "The hyperdrive?"

Setting his head in his hands, he suddenly found he couldn't form words, found that words were maybe unnecessary.

This was not how he wanted to go.

He thought of the way Padmé's dress had beamed on their wedding day, how Obi-Wan's begrudging smile had lifted his spirits, how small and vulnerable his children had felt in his hands. Wherever they were, he hoped they'd made it farther than he had.

Maybe they could find a happy life, somewhere along Naboo's lakes.

"More ships arriving!" said Theo. "Two o'clock!"

Anakin closed his eyes, and dissipated his feverish mind into the expanse of space. There was a glimmer of peace there—he could sense it. Perhaps he could find hope…

Then, in the crevice of his mind, he felt a presence stir in the Force—warm, light, and achingly familiar. Withdrawing in concentration, he scrunched his eyes and reached for it. The brush of light stirred something hopeful in his mind. He _knew_ that presence.

"Don't fire," he managed to tell Theo, and, using his remaining strength to move to the copilot's chair, he located the new arrivals coming in at one o'clock—a command ship and accompanying fighters. Corellian grade.

"Who are they?" said Theo.

The Alliance fighters zoomed past them, pulling TIE fighters into dogfights at their stern. With enemy concentration on them diminished, Anakin fumbled for the radio knobs, locating a frequency.

"_Ana—kin_?" crackled the radio. "_Anakin, are you there_?"

"Obi-Wan," Anakin said, and he might have expressed joy if the he didn't feel like he would vomit from overexertion. The relief he could manage crept into his voice as he formed his best friend's name. "Obi-Wan—"

"_Anak—move over… the command ship. We'll pull you in_."

His shaking hands couldn't obey, so Theo banked the ship starboard, heading straight for the command ship. The command ship looked beautiful. A sparkling medical wing rested on the ship's belly, two escape pods glistened on each side, and the command tower stretch high above—an image of glass and metal.

Theo's knuckles looked white as the command ship pulled them into the docking bay. Anakin, who felt as though that had been the final excitement for him, rested his pounding head against the seat, and let his eyes drift close as the doors swallowed them whole.

"_General Skywalker_," the radio crackled, this time a different voice. "_General Kenobi'll… meet you_—"

He was so tired. And cold…

* * *

Something grasped his shoulder—a hand. When he lifted his head, he could see a blurry face with a beard and auburn hair.

"Anakin," said a familiar voice. "Anakin."

The ground looked far away. Where was Theo? Had they taken Theo?

"Theo—"

"Anakin, can you hear me?"

"Theo—"

"Captain, get a stretcher."

He faded into black.

* * *

When the _Astral Miner_ was still an hour away from Dantooine, Padmé emerged from the bunks. Upon entering the main hold, she found its two inhabitants, the human and Nautolan padawans, sitting quietly in the corner. Master Yoda must have left them to join Oomassa in the cabin.

Their eyes flickered briefly to her—a sort of shy suspicion—and she was reminded of a young boy she had once known many, many years ago. He had been cold and lonely too.

"Has Master Yoda left?" she asked them gently.

The little Nautolan nodded, his dark eyes glistening. The human boy didn't meet her gaze, picking a spot on his finger. Their padawan braids brushed their shoulders—a sore reminder of their disrupted training.

She wondered just how much trauma the usually respectful padawans must have suffered for them to retreat into painful shyness. "We'll be at the Alliance base in an hour," she told them. "Where you'll be safe for the time being."

The Nautolan looked down at his hands.

"What're your names?" she asked gently.

"Nat Noscere," said the Nautolan quietly. "This is Rajendra."

"Are you Master Yoda's padawans?"

They both shook their heads, and Padmé immediately regretted asking. Their Masters had most likely died in the massacre. Their gazes fell back down again, and she knew she wouldn't get much else out of them. They needed to learn how to trust again.

"You'll be free to spread out once we reach Dantooine," she told them when she could think of something else to say. She could only imagine the horror and instability they had gone through over the past months. "Hopefully then life will return to some order."

She had only taken a few steps when a new voice called her back.

"Do you think the clones know what they did?"

She turned to see Rajendra's eyes on her, sharp and wary, and was at once aware of the influence she had over the padawans' adjustment.

"We can't hold them fully accountable for something they're not fully aware of," she said finally. "It was right to defend yourself against unprovoked attacks."

As Rajendra's gaze sank back down to his fingers, the sound of rapid footsteps signaled an approach from the cabin, and Padmé turned to see Oomassa moving towards her.

"Captain?"

"You'll be glad to hear it," she said, and Padmé knew what she would say the moment before she spoke. "Kenobi's just made contact—they found Skywalker. He's safely aboard the command ship."

For a moment, Padmé could only let out a large, shaky breath she didn't know had been inside of her. She forced herself to breathe through her relief, giving herself a moment to absorb the news. "He's… okay?"

"His leg is injured," Oomassa said. "A burn gone bad. He has a high fever from the infection, but it sounds like he'll pull through."

Padmé nodded, only able to understand relief, too preoccupied by the fact that he was _alive_.

"He picked up a companion along the way," Oomassa said.

Nat and Rajendra's gazes turned towards them.

"What do you mean?"

"A clone. It seems they've been traveling together."

Anakin wouldn't—he hated them for what they'd done. "A… friendly one?"

"The clone claims his chip is malfunctioning, and that they've been traveling together since they left Tatooine," Oomassa said. "The ship is holding him until they can confirm his medical status."

As long as the clone wasn't a threat and Anakin was secure, worry didn't linger with Padmé. "You sound uneasy about it."

Oomassa's jaw looked hard. "For security purposes, it's not a wise decision bringing an Imp into the Alliance. He could be sending valuable information outside."

"With what?" Padmé said. "The Alliance is thorough. They'd confiscate anything that looked suspicious."

Oomassa shrugged, as if that concluded it, and started back in the direction of the cabin. "I'd prefer to be safe than sorry."

Padmé wasn't comfortable leaving the conversation like that. "The clones are without full awareness," she said firmly. "You can't fault them or punish them for actions they commit."

"It's a cutthroat galaxy," Oomassa said over her shoulder. "We have to make sacrifices if we want to survive."

Padmé let the hold fall into silence. Then, unwilling to bear the padawans' gazes or Oomassa's politics any longer, she returned to her bunk.

* * *

The _Astral Miner_ lowered itself onto the Alliance's makeshift platform forty minutes later, and ten minutes after that, Padmé followed Master Yoda and the padawans down the loading ramp. Below the mossy ziggurat that was the Alliance base, a group waited for them, dressed in pressed linens and headdresses. Mon Mothma's white gown stood out among the number.

"Amidala."

The voice came from somewhere close behind her, and Padmé turned around to see Oomassa moving down the ramp.

"I have… something for you," the Zabrak said, hesitating. She had a strange expression on her face, a mixture of discomfort and resignation. Perhaps something of an apology?

When the captain reached her, she pressed something into Padmé's hand—a silver device roughly the size and shape of a lightsaber. "I know we don't agree on many things, but I know freedom is as important to you as it is to me."

The Zabrak motioned to Padmé's hand. "Banai built this," she said. "It's the only device we've designed that's successfully disabled slave transmitters. I hope it works on clone chips, too."

"Thank you," Padmé said, turning the device in her hands. It must have meant a lot for Oomassa to give it to her. "I with you and Kitster luck when you return to Tatooine. I know many people benefit from your work."

Oomassa pressed her thumb and forefinger to her heart, and Padmé echoed the gesture.

"Farewell," Padmé said.

"May the winds be in your favor," Oomassa replied, lips hardening in what might have been a final smile.

She turned and disappeared up the loading ramp, and Padmé looked back in the direction where Master Yoda and the padawans had headed. Much of the reception had left with them, but a familiar lone woman in white robes waited for her.

Tucking the tool into her jumpsuit, Padmé moved towards her, feeling her spirits lifting as she approached her old friend. A warm smile spread across Mon's usually stoic expression.

"Senator Mothma," she greeted her.

"Senator Amidala," said Mon, grasping her arms. "I was so glad to hear Bail's news. We thought you had perished in the Temple massacre."

"I made it out in time," Padmé said. "I haven't been in as much danger as you have these past months. With all the senators disappearing…"

"It was distressing to hear of it," Mon said. "I understand you were there when it happened?"

Padmé nodded, tightening her grip on her arms. "We'll find him. Bail's valuable to Palpatine—he can't risk executing him just yet."

"All the same," Mon said. "I believe more drastic measures are required—"

She broke off abruptly, her gaze catching on the roundness of Padmé's belly. Padmé closed the vest folds over her jumpsuit, and Mon's eyes darted away, leaving a flush on both their cheeks and guilt in the pit of Padmé's stomach that she hadn't told even her family or closest friends she'd been pregnant.

"There's… a lot to explain, much of which I will have to convey in private," Padmé said finally. "I… gave birth a few days ago."

Mon blinked. "I'm… sorry for being intrusive," she said. "I didn't know you were expecting."

"No one knew," Padmé said. "I made sure it was that way."

Mon lowered her eyes respectfully, but Padmé could sense her lingering curiosity about the father and the child's absence. They fell into silence as they followed the Jedi into the ziggurat's mouth.

The smell of engine grease and humid moss first greeted her as she stepped into the shadow, and when her eyes adjusted she saw a hangar of ships—x-wings and corvettes and one silver starskiff not unlike the one she owned. Mechanics and pilots in jumpsuits lingered together in clumps, passing tools under ship bellies and lounging against fighter wings and exchanging greasy sabacc cards.

"Some of them are outcasts or Imperial deserters," Mon said. "Others were displaced by the Empire's new mining facilities, or are escaped slaves, or are homeless. We have at least a hundred families here, and more than five times the number of able-bodied sentients."

"You've gathered quite the number," Padmé remarked, noting the room extended beyond the far wall and up to the next level.

"We don't do much recruiting," Mon said. "They seem to find us faster than we find them."

Padmé watched a girl no older than twelve crouched on a supply crate accepting a piece of bread from a nearby pilot. "It's a haven for those who have nowhere else to go."

A stone staircase lined the zigzags of the ziggurat interior, and Mon led her up the level. They came out in a command center, filled with transmitters and holo plans. A few droids clattered around the equipment, as officers and pilots studied ship diagrams and carried equipment in and out of the room.

"It's a start for where we want to be," Mothma said. "We've taken record of all the information the Empire's tried to delete. We have the locations of the Force-sensitives in the Inner Worlds, and the Republic's old Jedi records, and the locations of the Imperial spies on Naboo and Corellia. We've even managed to secure data of Imperial naval movements through the inside sources on Coruscant."

"The Alliance can't be ready to face the Empire," Padmé said.

"Not head-on," Mon said. "But action must be taken, and soon. Organa's arrest made that clear."

"The Imperial navy far outguns us, and there're spies everywhere—"

"I know," Mon said. "We're thinking of something a bit more bold."

Padmé watched a few Mon Calamari officers move around schematics of Coruscant's underworld. She glimpsed a layout of the Senate Building, and of Emperor Palpatine's office. "Something dangerous?"

Mon's hesitance gave her the answer. "Let's go somewhere where we can talk in private," she said.

* * *

The first thing Anakin became aware of was how comfortable he felt. His body still ached like he had been run over by a rancor, but his leg and head had stopped throbbing, and he didn't feel nauseous or dizzy. The room temperature felt comfortable—not too hot or cold. The bed underneath him was softer than anything he'd slept in since Padmé's bed in 500 Republica.

He blinked back the blurriness in his eyes to realize he was lying on a bottom bunk in sleep trousers. His hands had been bandaged, as had the burn mark on his leg. Ice packs lined both sides of his chest, where he'd gathered bruises, though he didn't know what from. Feeling a bit of a chill, he picked the packs up and dropped them clumsily on the floor. One pack slipped through his bandaged fingers and exploded on the floor.

"You shouldn't be moving," said a familiar voice from the bunk over.

Obi-Wan came to the doorway, a small smile on his face. He looked the same as Anakin remembered him—auburn beard neatly trimmed, hair parted to the side, and a glimmer of humor in his eye. "Welcome to the _Desert Scraper_—aptly named, might I add. We barely scraped by those warships."

"Obi-Wan," Anakin breathed, chest tightening at the sight of his old friend. "I can't believe—I thought you—you've been on Alderaan this whole time?"

"Back and forth a few times," Obi-Wan said, with a curve of his lip that suggested it had been more than a few times. "But yes. I've been working with Senator Organa… Palpatine's ascension has caused led to more than a few disappearances among the Delegation."

Anakin hadn't realized just how much he'd missed Obi-Wan's ever-present levity, or the knowing twitch in his smile. There was something comforting in the way he commanded silence in a room. Perhaps that was why he was called the Great Negotiator. Anakin had missed being by his side.

"Yes, well," Obi-Wan said, looking down, and Anakin realized he had been staring far too long to hold up the semblance of a normal conversation. Finally, Obi-Wan relaxed in a small smile. "It's good to see you too, Anakin."

His master rarely admitted anything sentimental, and Anakin couldn't help the impish grin he felt pulling on his cheeks. "Did you miss me?"

Obi-Wan's gaze turned wry. "I'll just say I _won't_ miss being vomited on."

Anakin's cheeks drained. "Did I actually?"

"Twice."

"Well," said Anakin, remembering how nauseous he had felt under Theo's piloting, "it was only a matter of time, I sup—" He straightened abruptly in his bed, feeling the nausea return. "Padmé—did Padmé make it to Alderaan? Is she okay? And the twins—?"

Obi-Wan held up a hand. "They're okay," he said. "They're all okay."

"And Theo?"

"He's locked up for the time being, in comfortable quarters. We just need to be sure his chip is deactivated for good."

Anakin sank into his bed. "But Padmé—she's safe?"

"She left with Master Yoda and a few padawans to head to Dantooine, where those opposing the Empire have gathered," Obi-Wan said, and there was something guarded in his eyes. Anakin knew instantly by the subtle tightening in his master's jaw that the older Jedi knew of the lies, and perhaps had for some time. "You have a lot to explain."

Anakin let out a long, centering breath. He played with the bandage on his hand, scratching the fabric until the threads came off in beads. Obi-Wan was his best friend, and he deserved to hear the truth from his mouth. "I… broke the code. We fled together to Tatooine during the Temple massacre. She gave birth to twins only a few days ago."

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, but Anakin knew from the tension in his cheek that he was anything but pleased. "How long?"

"Since Geonosis," Anakin said quietly. "We married when I took her back to Naboo. She was six months pregnant by the Battle of Coruscant."

Obi-Wan remained quiet for a painful length of time, and Anakin recognized for the first time the value of his steadiness over the years, in his loyalty to the Order, in his duties, and in his trust in the Force. Obi-Wan had a perseverance and calm rationality that Anakin could never attain. He was a true Jedi.

"I'm… not deserving of the title I carry," Anakin said. "If the Council demands it, I'll—I'll give up my blade and leave the Order."

"We both know you wouldn't make it," Obi-Wan said, quietly. "And there is no Council left to make that decision."

He knew his master was right, and he couldn't help the guilt that surged there, or the anxiety about his wife and children. "But you've… seen them, though?" Anakin said. "Did they look well?"

"Senator Amidala had to leave the twins on Alderaan, with Breha Organa," Obi-Wan said, drawing a chair beside Anakin's bed.

"W—what? _Why_?"

"I think we all know the risk we're taking in this operation," he said. "Things are only going to get more dangerous."

"Why did she leave them? She abandoned them—she left them on another planet—"

"Think about it, Anakin," Obi-Wan said. "Padmé knows what she's doing. Palpatine won't touch Breha Organa—she's no direct threat, and he can't risk planetary anger by replacing her. Your children are safe in the palace."

"If Palpatine finds out—"

"Palpatine has bigger concerns right now," Obi-Wan said. "Senator Mothma is trying to move forward with a new plan before things get even worse for the Alliance."

"Get worse?"

Obi-Wan's lips hardened. "Senator Organa's been arrested. Previous arrests have ended in private executions, and more will continue. Senator Mothma's on the watch list. _Every_ Delegation senator is on the watch list. And besides that, Jedi are still hunted down every day. Many are lured into Imperial traps. The Empire has eyes everywhere, if being tracked here was any indication."

"Senator Organa?" Anakin echoed. "But Breha—what about—"

"Breha's safe," Obi-Wan cut across, and Anakin read his annoyance in an eyebrow pinch. "She's not the concern here—the sheer number of executions is. Mothma recognizes the need for immediate action. Padmé arrived on Dantooine just a few hours ago with Yoda and two of the padawans we rescued. They're already in the midst of planning."

Anakin shook his head. "The Alliance can't match the Imperial Navy—we're far outgunned—"

"There're less than five thousand soldiers at various locations on Dantooine, Naboo, and other worlds. That's not counting sympathizers on Coruscant, Corellia, and many sectors."

"Which isn't enough. We both know it."

"Not for direct confrontation," Obi-Wan said. "But it is for a ruse."

"A ruse?"

"One of the main reasons why Mothma and Organa sanctioned the rescue party to retrieve you was because they've assigned us a special mission."

Anakin frowned.

"Mothma recognizes that certain actions are imperative to the survival of the Alliance and those loyal to democracy," Obi-Wan continued. "Sometimes drastic measures are needed—"

"A rescue mission?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Much, much riskier." He took a breath and said slowly, "Mothma has proposed that we confront Palpatine ourselves."

There was a pause as Obi-Wan watched him closely. Anakin didn't know what to think, what to feel—

"If the Alliance draws Imperial attention away from Coruscant, Mothma believes she may be able to smuggle us to the Senate Complex."

Anakin stared at him for a long time, the complexities of completing such a task running through his mind. "An assassination assignment."

"That would be the crude term, yes."

"We're not _assassins_, Obi-Wan."

"Anakin, we're in a period of war. We're in a desperate place right now. And desperate—"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, I know," Anakin interrupted, suddenly irrationally impatient. "But you realize how dangerous this is—that's a lot of ifs!"

"If we don't try now, before Palpatine has fully settled into power, there may not be a time in the next fifty or more years that the galaxy will give us the opportunity."

"Jedi don't kill like that—it goes against every lesson the Code teaches."

"For the good of the galaxy, we're going to have to put aside traditional teachings—"

"Put aside traditional teachings?" Anakin echoed angrily. "It's not a job for Jedi."

Obi-Wan's brows narrowed at him. "And who else could complete such a mission, Anakin?"

"I don't know," snapped Anakin. "An assassin?" He didn't want to face Palpatine, he couldn't bear thinking about how close he'd been to slaughtering the Jedi himself...

"An assassin can't handle a project of this magnitude, and we can't be sure of their loyalty."

"So you're saying that this is why they sent out a rescue mission," Anakin said angrily. "To use me."

"Anakin, that's not the only reason—"

"We both know this is a suicide mission, Obi-Wan." Anakin ripped at the threads on his bandages.

"_Anakin_."

"As if we haven't been in living _hell_ for the past five years."

"As _Jedi_," Obi-Wan said firmly, "our duty is to serve and defend the Republic, no matter where the Force leads us."

"And fight galactic wars, one corrupt politician after another—"

"They're sending us," Obi-Wan cut in, "because we're the best for the job."

"Because we haven't sacrificed enough lives and blood and sanity for them."

"That's not—"

"So you're not sick of being used!"

"I will defend the Republic and the Order as the galaxy calls for it. That is my duty, Anakin. That's what choosing being a Jedi _means_."

Anakin ripped off a whole square of his bandage, and Obi-Wan fell into an incredulous silence.

"Don't you _want_ Palpatine dead?"

Anakin felt a twinge of hurt. "How can you even ask that?"

"Then what's wrong?"

"This whole thing is wrong, that's what's wrong," Anakin said, face burning. His whole body had begun to tremble and his heart to race, and he didn't know how to calm them. "I can't believe Master Yoda approved of this."

He could barely take a steady breath. He didn't want to face Palpatine, he didn't want to face the Dark—

"Palpatine's a Sith lord!"

"I _know who he is_!" Anakin snapped.

Obi-Wan let out a long sigh, and Anakin could tell he was gathering himself. Then, in a lower, steadier voice, he said, "How about you tell me what's really going on."

"There's nothing to say," Anakin said, but he couldn't meet his master's eye.

A long, unsettling silence fell over the cabin. Then, eventually, Anakin heard Obi-Wan rise to his feet. "I'll leave you to rest," he said. "In a few hours we'll arrive on Dantooine, and we'll discuss this further."

Anakin could only remain silent as he listened to Obi-Wan's boots retreating from the room. He gripped the sheets to keep his hands from shaking.


	8. Chapter 8

"Anakin didn't take well to Senator Mothma's new assignment," Obi-Wan's holo told Padmé, as she stood by the transmitter in the quarters she'd been assigned, turning the slave transmitter device in her hands. "I think he's still pretty shaken up."

She'd expected he might be. After his nightmares over the past months and all he'd been through the last few days, she hadn't expected him to return to them recovered. But he'd been found for the most part in one piece, and that was all she wanted.

"I don't know what it is," Obi-Wan said. "I know he wants Palpatine dead, but he seems vehemently opposed the idea of assassinating him."

She considered telling him about his brush with the Dark Side, and how he feared his potential. But she saw bags under the Jedi Master's eyes that she'd never noticed before, and she didn't want him losing any sleep over his former apprentice. He'd probably already been neglecting himself to watch Anakin.

"I'll talk to him," she said. "Maybe I can see what's wrong."

"Thank you, Senator," Obi-Wan said. "I think he needs a bit of time to regroup."

"And some time in bacta dressing, it sounds like."

A weary smile broke on Obi-Wan's face. "Yes, that should be interesting. Very well. I'll speak with you shortly. We should be landing in less than thirty minutes. Meet us with an escort for the clone."

Padmé met his smile. "We'll be prepared. I look forward to your arrival."

Obi-Wan's holo winked out.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Padmé headed to the landing platform with Senator Mothma and a few of her officers, and they all watched, breeze tugging on their clothes, as the _Desert Scraper_ lowered itself to concrete below. The ramp descended amidst the curls of exhaust steam, and Padmé glimpsed boots moving at the top. Heart beating in her chest, she stepped forward with the others to greet the travelers.

The ship's captain came down first, then all the pilots who'd made it through the dogfights and the clone Padmé'd heard about from Oomassa's transmission. Someone had clapped his wrists in binders, but he didn't look mistreated or wary of the people around him. If anything, he looked underwhelmed by the Alliance base.

"Welcome," Mothma said.

The ship's captain, a Bothan, inclined his head to her. "Senator Mothma."

"Thank you for your service. I'm glad you reached Dantooine safely."

Through the arriving crowd, Padmé could see Obi-Wan descending with another pair of boots. She stepped around the Bothan and his pilots and waited, heart high in her throat.

And there he was, a bit worse for wear with scratches on his face and bandages on his hands and leg, but with all limbs intact and curls still bright in the sun. He leaned on Obi-Wan as he limped down the ramp. Almost immediately, their gazes connected, and, abandoning all formalities, she rushed to him.

His chest felt like home to her, and his arms wrapped around her tightly. He smelled a bit like sweat and smoke and bacta, but she planted a long kiss on his lips and his hands came up to brush her jaw.

"Padmé," he whispered. "Padmé. I'm so glad you're okay."

"I'm so glad _you're_ okay," she said, smoothing the curls at his neck. "When we suspected the ship had been tracked—"

"I know, I know," he said quickly, and she knew instantly that he didn't want to talk about it. "It's so good to see you."

"Ani, the twins—"

"Obi-Wan told me," he said. "It's okay."

She released the breath she didn't know she'd been holding, relieved that he didn't blame her for leaving their children behind. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm fine," he said, moving in for another kiss. "I've been worried about you."

She shook her head. "Ani, I'm perfectly okay—"

"Did you get a medical examination? Are you healed? And the twins?"

She couldn't help the small impatient sigh. They hadn't even been together for more than a minute. "They're healthy, and so am I."

"You should be resting."

"_You_ should be resting," she corrected. "Until that leg heals."

"The leg's fine, it's just the skin—"

"All the same, Anakin."

There he was, already turning away with an impatient sigh. She knew he hated doing nothing and he hated feeling useless.

She ran her hand over his shoulder. "It'll be nice to rest for a little."

His muscles relaxed under her fingers and a small, reluctant smile broke across his face. "I'm sure I can assist, milady."

Sensing Obi-Wan shifting uncomfortably with their prolonged contact, she passed Anakin a brief kiss to the cheek and left his arms to greet the Jedi Master.

"Obi-Wan," she said warmly.

He returned her smile, and though it was slight, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Senator Amidala."

"I'm glad everything went well."

"It's good to be here safely," Obi-Wan said, as they turned in tandem towards the rest of the group.

Mothma and the captain and crew had paused to wait for them. The senator's expression had gone very still, eyes following Anakin. She straightened when she realized Padmé was watching her.

"General Skywalker," she said politely when they reached her. "I'm relieved to see you well." At his nod and murmur of thanks, she said to Obi-Wan. "General Kenobi, welcome. Thank you for your service."

A small bow. "Of course, Senator."

"Let's move somewhere where you can rest," she said, motioning for them to head under the ziggurat's cool shadow.

The clone and his guards parted with them halfway, and they continued through the ship hangar's metal maze and the command center's officers to a chamber down a side hall. The door slid open to reveal a small room with metallic plating on its sides and a holo map of the Senate Building at its middle. When the door slid closed behind them, a small green Jedi Master came around the map's side, twisted gimer stick in hand.

"General Kenobi," Yoda greeted him, as Obi-Wan adjusted his grip on Anakin.

"Master Yoda."

"Good to see you, it is," Yoda said. "And you, young Skywalker. Injured badly, were you?"

Anakin gave him a small bow. "No, Master Yoda."

"Good, good," he said. "Much to discuss, we have."

They moved in to view the holo map, and Mothma set her fingers on the display ledge. The hologram zoomed into a window of Palpatine's office. "I had this room constructed for privacy," she explained. "We should be safe to speak freely."

"Don't you trust the people here?" Obi-Wan said.

"I don't trust Emperor Palpatine," Mothma replied. "He has eyes everywhere."

Yoda's forehead wrinkled as he thought. "Careful, we must be," he said, "when proceeding."

Mon turned to look at Anakin. "General Skywalker," she said. "Perhaps you can begin with your report."

Anakin shifted on his bandaged leg. "I, um." He glanced over at Padmé, and she gave him a nod. They couldn't keep the secret any longer. "I think I should start with a… confession."

He looked up nervously at Obi-Wan and Mothma, then down at Yoda. When his shoulders squared, he let out a small breath. "Master Yoda, I broke the Jedi Code. I went against my vows as a Jedi and took marriage vows."

Mothma glanced at Padmé.

"Senator Amidala and I were married a few days after the Battle of Geonosis," Anakin continued, "in Varykino on Naboo. We… decided to keep it a secret. We've been together for four years."

He glanced up, his expression filled with discomfort, and though he met the eyes of all present, his attention lingered anxiously on the Grand Master. His

Yoda's brow had scrunched into furrowed lines. "Know this, I do," he said.

"Y—you do?"

"For many months," Yoda said. "Disappointed, I am, that hold the promises you make, you do not. But pressing, other concerns are."

Padmé could see Anakin wilt under Yoda's finger. After an uncomfortable beat of silence, Mothma told him lightly, "Finish your story, Skywalker."

"Padmé and I—Senator Amidala and I went to Tatooine because we believed Palpatine wouldn't believe I returned there. She gave birth the night we realized we were being tracked, so we left. Kitster and Oomassa arranged transport for Padmé and our…the children, but we got separated along the way—"

"Children, did you say?" Mothma asked.

"Twins," Anakin said.

"Where are they?"

He glanced at Padmé, and she explained quietly, "I left them in Breha's care, on Alderaan. With the droids."

Mothma nodded, a signal to continue.

"I met Theo after Padmé's transport left," Anakin said. "He had a concussion and couldn't remember his execution orders. He helped me get a ship, but we crashed outside Kalarba City—"

"How far outside?"

"Far enough that no one saw us. It was after we realized we were being tracked and couldn't return to the coordinates. We stole another ship in the city and flew to the coordinates."

Mothma's brow furrowed as she absently traced the holo transmitter with her finger. "You were injured in the crash?"

"My leg was burned, that's all," Anakin said, a bit more stiffly.

"I expect General Kenobi explained to you the plan we're developing."

"He mentioned it."

Mothma seemed to pick up on his reluctance to discuss the issue. "Palpatine has grown too powerful for us," she said. "Senators and Jedi are ending up dead faster than we can keep track of, and soon Palpatine will have squelched the few remaining Senatorial opposition. When that happens, we fear the public will be impossible to rally. The longer we wait, the more lives it will cost to restore justice to the system."

"The Alliance can't match the Imperial Navy," Anakin said.

"We're proposing a more drastic plan of action," Mothma continued. "Which I believe General Kenobi began to tell you about. The next step is to eliminate the threat at its roots. We're proposing an assassination plot. It's a time-sensitive situation, and we need to take immediate action.

"We're planning to send a few rebel fighters into another Sector, to draw Imperial attention away from Coruscant, and then close in on the capital. Half of the group will go to Palpatine's office in the Senate office building, and the other to the archives in the Senate Rotunda to see what can be done with the clones. Hopefully, they will also be able to locate any of our arrested allies."

"With Palpatine eliminated and the knowledge of how to control the clones," Obi-Wan continued, watching Anakin carefully. "We should be able to secure the Senate and Imperial Navy."

The young Jedi seemed to be having a difficult time making eye contact. He would shut down soon if they didn't present the mission gently.

"We ultimately believe," Padmé added slowly, "that we have a better chance facing Palpatine one-to-one then sending our soldiers off to meet Imperial troops. As you said, we're vastly outnumbered, and we're afraid that the Senators and Jedi in Imperial custody will be used as leverage to force us into surrender. Taking the offensive would reduce that risk, and save a few lives in the process."

Anakin looked at her, and suddenly she could see the fear in his eyes. She couldn't say anything in that moment, remembering the nights he'd woken bathed in sweat. It wasn't just the massacre that haunted him—it was Sidious and his potential for darkness as well.

The small silence that followed her suggestion was broken when Obi-Wan said, arms folded, "Anakin, you must understand the importance of this mission. As soon as Master Ti returns from her mission and your leg is healed, we will be leaving for Coruscant."

He nodded then, but suddenly looked old beyond his years.

* * *

"It's not that they don't value you," Padmé said that night, as she dried the water from her face.

She glanced back into the tiny bedroom, where Anakin was lounging on the bottom half of the bunk. He exhaled gently through his hands, combing back the hair from his face.

"They so appreciate everything you and the Jedi have sacrificed over the years. But the fact of the matter is that you, Obi-Wan, and Master Yoda are the only Jedi left who have the power to face Palpatine. We're desperate. It could mean our lives and the end of democracy for the galaxy."

"I know," he said softly from behind his hands.

She tossed the towel on the fresher counter and headed towards him. He didn't look at her when she lowered herself to the mattress, or when she slowly ran her hands through his hair. His golden curls moved smoothly through her fingers, soft and spongy against her palm. "Are you scared?"

He sighed softly, and rolled over to face her.

"You're allowed to be."

With a lingering finger, he reached out to trace the hem of her bed shirt. "I know he knows," he whispered. "He knows everything. He's smarter than we'll ever be."

Hooking her legs around his, she laid beside him, so close on the tiny bed that she could feel his puffs of breath on her collarbone and feel his heartbeat on her hands. "He's corrupted and arrogant."

"He probably already knows about our plan, and the twins. He knows about our children."

His curls ran through her fingers. "Things'll get worse if we don't act now."

"He'll take everything from us."

"He won't," Padmé said firmly. "It's about creating a safe world for our children."

"He will," said Anakin quietly. He closed his eyes, as if he couldn't bear to see the destruction in his mind's eye. "He will, and we'll have nothing left."

"You know we have few other options."

His head tucked into her chest, brushing her collarbone with his cheek. In a way, she didn't need him to reply to that; his silence already indicated that he understood the mission's gravity and would submit to his assignment. But there was something more that needed to be addressed.

"Are you afraid of the Dark Side?" she asked quietly. "Are you afraid of yourself?"

He didn't answer her, but as she continued to stroke his hair, she was reminded of a grimy workshop four years ago, when darkness and grief had wrecked terrible havoc on a young Jedi. Anakin's hands tightened their grip on her, pulling her close to him, and she exhaled softly into the coarse bedlinens.

* * *

Two hours later, Padmé slipped into the darkened hallway outside Anakin's bunk. Obi-Wan waited for her there, arms folded against his tunic.

"How is he?"

"A bit better. Though if he wasn't so tired I don't think I would've been able to move around without waking him up."

"Did he agree to the mission?"

She nodded.

Obi-Wan glanced back into the room, as though he could see Anakin's still body in the darkness. When he turned back, his expression was solemn. "He's been acting oddly… Did anything happen to him after I left for Utapau? Anything I should know about?"

Twitchy nightmares, sweat-plastered tunics, panic attacks, shouting in the tiny hovel.

"A lot happened after you left," Padmé told him slowly, carefully. "He doesn't talk about the things he's been through."

His eyes searched her face. "But you know something I don't know?"

She couldn't meet his gaze for a moment. "I'm not sure how much to—" She started again. "There're some things about his past that he doesn't talk about. He's done things he regrets… certain topics are always extremely sensitive with him."

He continued to search her expression, reading between the vague lines her words were drawing. "Bad things?"

She hesitated, uncertain how much she should share of a struggle that was not her own. "Bad things," she agreed, remembering the sunbaked Tatooine workshop and the chill of Anakin's confession. "Things done in anger that he can't ever amend." Brushes with the Dark Side.

"He told you about these things."

"He had to tell someone—or I think he may have gone insane."

Obi-Wan was very still. She studied him, uncertain if the silence stemmed from frustration or disappointment or perhaps a desire to understand Anakin's actions. "He cares about you, Obi-Wan," she said gently. "He's always cared about your opinion of him. Perhaps that's why he chose not to share parts of his life."

He was silent for a long moment. She watched him mull over her words, until he said, "Are these incidences the reason he fears Palpatine?"

"He's afraid of his potential for darkness," she said quietly, "and is under immense pressure trying to live up to his role as the Chosen One."

Obi-Wan's arms tightened against his chest. "We'll need him, if he's ready or not," he said eventually. "The galaxy needs him, and we won't have another chance to make it right."

She thought of all the times Anakin had cracked under stress, unable to hold up under pressure. "You don't think we're moving too quickly?"

"We might not make it if we don't act fast." His brows rose. "Do you?"

"I'm worried that the galaxy won't be able to make it through the transition," she said. "Don't misunderstand me—I understand the importance of this mission, especially the need to act now, but I'm worried that the Senate and the Imperial navy won't be so cooperative. And I'm worried that Anakin won't be able to hold up under the pressure."

"Yet you believe the galaxy is chaffing against Palpatine's rules."

"Its citizens are. But we have to account for the chips in each clone's brain. We have no idea how that might affect any transition we place into effect. That's not considering the corrupt politicians Palpatine has been placing in the Senate. If we misstep, it could mean the lives of many of our captured allies, including Bail. Palpatine has leverage."

He tucked his hands into his sleeves. "With regards to the clone chips, the medical teams downstairs are doing everything they can," he said. "Theo will be the first of his brothers completely free from its influence. Of all the things we have control over, this is a good start."

Perhaps they could find a way to ensure the clones wouldn't turn on them. "I might have a way," Padmé told Obi-Wan suddenly. "Captain Oomassa left me with one of the slave chip disablers she and Kitster used on Tatooine. Maybe it'll work on chip inhibition."

* * *

The pungent smell of bleached surfaces and bacta greeted Padmé as she stepped into the medical bay. The still body of Jango Fett laid on one of the cots there, a thick bandage on his head and his hair shaved off on one side. She forced herself not to pause, tried not to remember how much pain the face had caused her.

"Hello," Padmé said, as Theo turned his head to look at her. "Theo, is it? I'm—"

"Senator Amidala," he finished, but not rudely. "General Kenobi told me."

She approached the bed. "I hope you're recovering well."

"Surgery was quick. I feel fine."

"They took the chip out, then?"

He nodded, motioning over to the trolley pushed to the side of the room. On a cloth there sat a petri dish and a miniscule blob of dried blood and apparent tissue. A small portion glowed an iridescent blue, and Padmé knew it must be the chip.

"I got lucky," Theo said. "Apparently the chip started working again mid-operation. They were able to get it out pretty fast… couldn't turn it off again."

She continued her approach, and took a seat beside him. "I wanted to talk about your brothers—the other clones whose chips are still functional."

He blinked, and the brief downward twitch of his lips betrayed his surprise. "What about them?"

"We perceive that they might be a threat to the Alliance, especially if we manage to take control of the Senate," she began slowly. "But we may have a cure, if we are able to test it."

"On me?"

"On the inhibitor chip."

Theo shook his head. "The medics… they told me that there was no cure for the others—nothing except surgery…"

"We might have found something that works," Padmé said, reaching into her pocket to take out the device Oomassa had given her. She handed it to Theo, and he turned it slowly in his hands. "I know a couple of people who have a lot of experience removing slave transmitters. At first they had to do it surgically. Now they use this."

Theo ran his fingers over the device's grooves, and finally looked up at Padmé. "It successfully disables chips? They built it?"

"They had to. Otherwise the slaves would have become living bombs."

The device looked thin and small in his rough hands. Perhaps almost fragile.

"It doesn't bother you, then," Theo said eventually, "that the clones have been killing people like you since Palpatine's assent?"

She had to consciously push herself to think of something to say. "I realize that their actions are not of free will. I want them to come to make their own decisions. No one should be held like that. It's slavery."

Theo watched her carefully for a few moments. "Are you and General Skywalker…?"

"Together," Padmé finished, noticing that his eyes, like Mothma's and many others, had drifted down to the roundness of her stomach. "Yes."

Theo chose not to comment on it. Instead, he bounced the device in his hands as if trying to inspect what might be inside the metal casing. "Do you have more of these?"

She shook her head. "That's the only one so far."

"Does it work?"

After a beat, she extended her hand and he passed it to her. A green button sat at the bottom, and she activated it. The screen lit up in green. Standing, she made her way over to the trolley and held it just above the petri dish and the blue chip.

The activation button came down with a tiny click, and as the device hummed in her hands for a few long moments, she watched in anticipation as the blue light began fading. For about five seconds as the device hummed the blue light shone faded in and out, until finally the glow in the dish died.

"It works," said Theo's voice behind her, strangely divorced from surprise or delight or any emotion at all.

The petri dish sat there, now just a collection of tissue and blood. Almost grisly looking, but somehow more _natural_. She wondered just how many clones they'd be able to get to with the device, if they'd have to make more, and if there was even a way they could save the millions of clone units stationed within the galaxy.

"Is the Alliance planning on making more of these?"

Padmé sighed. "I don't know if we'll have time," she said, and Theo watched her place the device down on the trolley.

"You can't cure us one by one—there're millions of us. We don't even have the technology behind it—the Senate has all the records. There's no way—"

"I know," she said. "But we have to start somewhere."

"I want to help," Theo said suddenly, and Padmé looked over at him. He sat straight, but with a coolness in his eye that told her he knew exactly what he might be up against—the Alliance and Empire alike. Part of her wondered how he knew they'd be taking quick action, but didn't think it important in the moment.

"Has Senator Mothma come to visit you?"

"Not yet," Theo said. "Ask her for me, will you? I'll be healed in a day or so—the bacta's almost done."

She wanted to tell him that it's take much longer to heal, and he wasn't ready, and that he needed to rest and keep out of a conflict because others might believe he was on the wrong side. The bandage around his head had bacta soaking through and a tiny blood splotches along the shaved side of his head. He wasn't going to be healed in a day. But she saw the same knot in his jaw that she knew in Anakin's. Anakin wouldn't be able to sit back and watch, either.

She nodded. "I'll speak to her," she agreed.

They might still be able to sway the clones' loyalty. And if there was one person who was able to help open communication with the Imperial military, it was Theo.

"We'll need all the support we can get."


	9. Chapter 9

Below Anakin and Obi-Wan and the holding area where they sat, the giant star skiff's engines rumbled. They'd parted with the rebel x-wings a few hours ago in the Expansion Region, leaving the x-wings to create chaos in the Circarpous Sector near Mimban, and now, their convoy—diminished to only Mothma's senatorial star skiff and a collection of small Chandrilian fighters—had just entered the Core Region. It made Anakin uneasy. They'd run into no problems the entire trip, and now, with Coruscant in sight, it seemed strange that everything had gone this smoothly. Flying the entire Corellian Run without disturbance from the Imperial Navy was almost unheard of, so either the Empire was woefully incompetent, or, much worse, that Palpatine knew they were coming.

"Closing in on the capital," Padmé's voice announced through the radio system. She, Theo, and Shaak Ti were on a neighboring ship—one of the small fighters Anakin could see out of the port window.

"Starting descent," said the captain in the cabin, as the copilot reached for the control panel ahead. In the seat behind them, Senator Mothma set down her holopad, and the bit of profile they could glimpse in the cabin's shadow seemed eerily calm.

"Ready?" Obi-Wan asked him, and Anakin nodded, a bit distracted by the growing cold in the hold. The star skiff tipped as the pilot directed them into the atmosphere.

"They're going to search the ship when we land," Obi-Wan reminded him. He motioned to a door in the floor. "Right under there is the—"

"Cargo hold, I know," Anakin said, a bit impatiently. In the deepening chill, he could sense tendrils of darkness reaching towards his mind, and immediately recognized their source. It was the same presence he'd once thought nurturing, though now, without its warm façade, it seemed a shadowy, dark echo of what Anakin had known.

The shadowy tendrils traced Anakin's mind shields thoughtfully, as a scientist might study a specimen for dissection. Holding back a shiver, Anakin reached down to secure his lightsaber and various comlinks to his utility belt.

"Palpatine knows we're here." There was no way the Sith could miss the approach of three Jedi. He probably already knew that the rebel chaos in the Circarpous Sector was a ruse, and that Senator Mothma's ships were on their way to Coruscant to kill him and take control of the Senate buildings. He was well within the power to arrest Senator Mothma and execute the Jedi as soon as they landed—if he didn't have a darker plan.

A twitch in Obi-Wan's shoulder told Anakin that his former master felt it too. "We expected this'd happen," he said. "It was inevitable."

Anakin glanced toward the port window, almost expecting it to cloud over with frost. The cold presence crept further down his neck. "We should've taken a fourth Jedi with us."

"And leave the padawans and future of the Order vulnerable on Dantooine?" Obi-Wan shook his head. "Better than any of us, Master Yoda understands the need to prepare for failure. If we don't make it out of Palpatine's office and Master Ti doesn't make it out of the Senate archives, Yoda may be the only Jedi free of Imperial control to guard the Order's future interests. We don't know the status of many surviving Jedi, and cannot rely on their help until we are certain of their safety."

Anakin had not been happy with the idea of Padmé, Theo, and Master Ti breaking into the Senate archives whilst Senator Mothma led him and Obi-Wan to assassinate Palpatine. He'd much rather Master Ti come with them, and Padmé not go at all. But Padmé had become resolved after speaking with Theo the over past few days as Anakin healed. She was convinced that the solution to the clone chip predicament was located somewhere in the archives, and that it might be their only chance at helping the clones and restoring peace in the wake of galactic transition.

_Prepare for failure_. It seemed an odd way for Obi-Wan to present the thought. "Mace Windu went in with a team of four to assassinate the Chancellor," Anakin said quietly. "None of them came back. Failure means death, Obi-Wan."

"I know that, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his voice just as soft. He looked out the port window at Padmé and Ti's ship. They could just see the horizon of Coruscant, glittering and dark, creeping from below their window.

"Death is nothing to be afraid of," Obi-Wan said suddenly.

It was. Anakin could lose _everything_—his family, Padmé, Obi-Wan, his soul. A cloud passed over Anakin's eyes. "It's more than that."

Obi-Wan's gaze lingered on him. "The Dark Side?" When Anakin couldn't respond or look at him, the older Jedi continued quietly but firmly, "You're not like that, Anakin."

Obi-Wan didn't know about the Tuskens, Shmi's death, or the persuasiveness of Palpatine's temptations. He didn't know just how _good_ it felt to have hatred pulsing hot through his veins, or the satisfaction of quenching the thirst of revenge. He didn't know that darkness and fear and hatred were still curled like a Krayt Dragon in Anakin's heart, ready to unfurl.

Anakin brought up his mental shields, unwilling to let the rolling waves of anxiety and guilt seep through his and Obi-Wan's bond. He doubted he could keep all of it from his friend, but at least the shields told Obi-Wan that he was unwilling to discuss any further.

The star skiff tipped again, as they descended into Coruscanti traffic.

* * *

Padmé's fighter—still carrying Theo and Master Ti—parted with them to move around the side of the Senate Rotunda, while the _Desert Scraper_ continued beyond to the Senate Office Building. Anakin gripped his lightsaber in his hands as they prepared to land in one of the tiered docking bays.

"They must have heard about the Allied fighters in the Circarpous Sector," Obi-Wan murmured. He was looking outside the port window at what must have been the quickly approaching planet surface.

"What do you mean?"

"There're multitudes of people outside the Senate," Obi-Wan said. "At least ten thousand."

"A revolt?" Anakin said, standing to move to the window. "It's too early for Coruscant."

"Discontentment might be the better word," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin peered out the port window to see the speckled heads of crowded sentients waiting on the bottom steps of the Senate Office Building. Armed clone squads held them back, but judging by the crowd's shifting against each other, they were restless.

"Security will be heightened inside the office," Obi-Wan warned.

"We'll have to be careful."

The view of the speckled crowds outside disappeared as the ship banked left, and finally the ship headed toward one of the tiered bays.

"Starting the landing cycle," the pilot said from the cabin. He glanced over his shoulder at them. "Master Jedi, your places."

"Come on," Obi-Wan said, and Anakin tore his gaze away from the port window. It felt like such a long time ago that he and Padmé had fled Coruscant in her silver Naboo skiff. They'd left in the middle of the night, path lit by the embers of the Temple fire, and brought only the droids and what they could carry.

They ducked under the cargo hold in the floor, and Senator Mothma came back to make sure the floor pieces looked unsuspicious. Crouched in the dark space, they could hear her boots clunking on the metal pieces above.

They waited until the ship had settled in one of the tiered docking bays and a group of Senators had greeted Mothma and walked with her into the Senate offices. The ship fell silent, and when it was apparent that all of the coming and going on the ship had finished, Anakin dared to speak.

"Palpatine didn't come to meet us," Anakin breathed.

"He knows we're here," Obi-Wan said. "He must. He's waiting for us to spring the trap."

They sat there for a few long moments, listening to only their breathing in the darkened chamber. Then, when the Force had calmed around them, they unfurled their cramped legs and pushed up on the floor piece. It slid back over their heads and they hoisted themselves up. The ship hall was empty.

"Let's go," Obi-Wan said.

Seeing that senators were scarce on the platform, they decided that the coast was clear and slipped down the ship ramp into the Senate ventilation ducts.

* * *

A thousand meters away in the Senate Rotunda Building, Padmé was nearly out of breath as she, Master Ti, and Theo ducked behind the nearest wall. A group of Mon Calamari passed them, in maroon robes and with long gold chains decorating their necks. Their robes swept so close that Padmé could have reached out and touched them. Pressing herself deep into the shadows, she waited for them to clear the area.

"Something's off here," the Togruta Jedi murmured when the Mon Calamari were gone.

"What do you mean?" Padmé asked her.

"It's way too easy," Master Ti said, her eyes following the hems of their robes around the far archway. "Someone's setting us up."

"Easy?" echoed Theo incredulously.

"Someone wants us to sneak in," Master Ti.

"No one knows we're here," Theo said.

Ti looked dubious.

"Let's just hurry," Padmé said, shifting her blaster in her hands. "We just need to get as much information on the clones and the arrested allies as we can."

"Do you have the slave transmitter?" Theo asked her.

Padmé nodded, patting the bulge in her vest. She didn't know how much use it'd come in when they only met senators within the Rotunda, but she supposed it was a good idea to keep it anyway.

Ti reached into her robes and pulled out the small hologram map of the Senate Rotunda that Mothma had given down them. A trail was highlighted in dark blue, following their progress throughout the building.

"Ten floors down," Padmé said. "Thirteen to go."

Ti tucked the hologram back in her pocket. "More senators are approaching," she said. "Let's get a move on."

When the lift doors parted to reveal the archives—a long, circular room much like a library. Rows of tall shelves stretched up to a dome ceiling, packed with holograms and data chips. They could see no sentient in sight, not even in the shadows beds where the shelves met the carped floor.

"No one go any further," Ti said suddenly, and they looked back at her. Her eyes were fixed on a point ahead of them. "You'll trip the silent alarm."

Padmé could see nothing ahead of them except sprawling carpet and shelves, but she trusted Ti's judgment. She'd lost count of the times Anakin's Jedi intuition had saved their skins.

"A retinal scan will disarm the alarm," Ti said, motioning to a panel on the wall.

Padmé followed the Jedi master to study the panel. "Theo won't work for this one. The Empire wouldn't give clones access to this."

"Nor Jedi," Ti said.

Padmé looked at the panel more closely. The bottom of the plate looked a bit loose—perhaps she'd be able to pry it open and reconfigure the inside. But who knew what silent alarms she might trigger.

"You have to do it, Senator," Theo said, and Padmé's head snapped to him.

Master Ti's brow had furrowed. "Theo?"

"I've been reading up on a little politics," Theo said. "Senator Mothma gave me some holopads to help me recover from my amnesia. One of the laws is the free information law, which states that information is public and free for all to use—"

"Free to all in _governmental positions_," Padmé corrected, a bit impatient that a clone was citing laws to her, a politician.

"You're in a government position."

"But stars know what might have changed since the Empire's formation," Padmé said. "And I've been officially dead for a long time—that is, _if_ the records have not marked me for aiding and abetting Jedi and Imperial enemies—"

"If you're officially recorded as dead," Theo said, "they may have your records still in the database, seeing as there was no reason to erase them."

"Dead on the official record could still mean alive on Palpatine's personal radar," Padmé said firmly. "He knew I was pregnant by a Jedi; it's no coincidence that I disappeared when Order 66 happened. He knows I'm not dead, and he's watching me to try to get to Anakin."

She motioned to the panel. "If I do a retinal scan, there might be a personal alarm going off in Palaptine's office."

"Senator, they're probably already aware that we're here," said Theo. "And we're wasting time lingering."

Padmé took a long moment to breathe, knowing that the clone was ultimately right. Palpatine probably already knew where they were and what they were doing—he was out of their league and would be the whole mission.

"Theo is right," Ti said. "We may as well try."

Tucking her lingering doubts away, Padmé leaned in to the retinal scan. A green piece extended, moving a graph of light across her eye. It receded after a long moment, and gave a beep. Padmé withdrew.

With a terrific thunder that made them jump, the dome overhead creaked and the lights began to turn on one at a time. Down the rows they went, and up again, until the whole place was bathed in light. Then, the silence resumed.

"Well," Padmé said, as Theo lowered his blaster. "Either it worked or Palpatine is now on his way. Let's be quick."

"The computers have been unlocked," Ti told her, and they followed him to the nearest one.

A flurry of results came up when they tried to find the locations of the holding cells where the Imperial prisoners were being held. Most of the information was locked, just as Padmé expected. An entry code blinked at her.

"Theo?"

"Yeah," he said, pulling Mothma's Corellian code-breaking device out of his pocket and holding the glowing end up to the computer. "Yeah, I got it."

One by one, the numbers in the code popped up on the screen, until the blank squares were filled and the screen unlocked the data.

"Impressive," Ti said.

"Necessary," Padmé said, handing Theo the chip.

Files spread out over the screen, numerous and detailed. Theo paused for a moment.

"Just download all of it," Ti told him, glancing behind them to make sure they were still alone. "We don't have time to sift through the information now."

The computer screen sifted through the information, and one by one the files zoomed to the chip. The progress bar slowly began to fill as files copied onto their disk.

"Come on, come on," she murmured to the progress bar, trying to imagine how far away the clonetroopers might be if they had indeed tripped the silent alarm. Half of the way there… three quarters of the way there…

A distant bang made them all jump.

"What was that?" Padmé said. It'd been far enough away that it might not concern them, but she rarely heard such racket in the Senate. They paused to listen. The archives had fallen into eerie silence. The chip beeped steadily. Theo's boots shifted on the carpet.

Another loud bang, this time much closer. Padmé flinched. Beside her, the progress bar filled and Theo removed the chip from the computer.

Ti closed her eyes, inhaling slowly. "Clonetroopers," she whispered, "approaching from the eastern and northern corridors."

Theo turned pale.

"Our time is up," Padmé said. "He found us."

"Never underestimate a Sith's strings," Ti said quietly. "Come on. Let's go."

They turned to leave, but Theo remained by the computer, the chip held firmly in his hand.

"No," he said. "We need to download that information on clone brain chips—"

"We don't have time," Ti said. "Clonetroopers are on their way _now_."

"We _need_ that information," Theo stressed. "It's why we're here."

"It's _part_ of the reason why we're here," Ti corrected him. "The other half being information on the locations of our hundreds of captured allies—Bail Organa and numerous senators have been unjustly arrested and set for execution—"

"There're _more than hundreds_ enslaved in the clone army," Theo said firmly. "Their lives are just as valuable as your Alliance leaders."

"We don't have time to free everyone," Ti said. "And we will be captured if we don't leave now."

"With respect, Master Jedi, we _need_ this information," Theo said.

"We can't afford to wait," Ti told him.

The bangs came louder and closer now, and they all flinched at the sound. Above them, a tiny crack rand along the dome's surface, and dust rained down on them.

"We're out of time," Master Ti told him, as the thundering of a hundred armored boots grew louder. "One of us has to make it out of here, or the whole mission will be in vain."

"I can't give you the chip," Theo said. "We won't be able to get in here again if we leave now. If we leave now, we are giving up all chances of swaying the clones to our side—"

"The clones might switch allegiance to a new leader of the Senate," Ti said firmly. "There are _other options_, Theo."

Theo's shoulder sunk, his gaze fell to the chip resting in the wrinkles of his palm. He turned it over once twice, and slowly and reluctantly extended his arm to Shaak Ti. But before she could take it, they were all jerked from their feet as a giant explosion ripped through the archive rows. Around them, the area burst into orange and red fire, flattening the three flattened to the carpet. Padmé's hands caught her fall, scraping the skin on her palms, and archive rows came toppling down with terrific crashes.

In the far end of the room, the doors opened and clonetroopers spilled in, blasters notched, and Padmé heaved herself on her feet, hand dipping into her holster.

"Clones closing in on the north entrance!" Theo shouted, moving over quickly to where Master Ti had crumpled and was still on the carpet. "Come on!"

"Do you have the chip?" Padmé asked them. "Do you—?"

Theo jolted, and his gaze snapped to the floor, where debris had mixed in with the dust and carpet. An expanse of stone slivers had scattered across the floor, leaving no chip in sight.

"_Kriff_," Padmé breathed. "_Kriff_—"

Theo hurried to shake Ti's shoulders, and the Jedi didn't stir. "She—she's unconscious!"

In that moment, troopers hustled around them, blocking all the exits. Closing the circle around the archives, they closed in rapidly.

"It's too late," Padmé said, as Theo pulled out his blaster and pointed it at the nearest clone commander. "Stand down, or they'll shoot us."

Theo slowly lowered his weapon, and they stood by Ti's unconscious form as the clones formed a tight circle about them.

"Weapons down!" shouted the commander.

Dread spreading like a disease in her insides, Padmé felt her fingers go numb, and the weapon slipped from her hand.

The troopers took the slave transmitter device from her pocket, the knives from her boots, Ti's lightsaber, and Theo's spare blaster, and gathered all of the weapons into a metal box. One of the troopers took it away immediately, moving out of the archives, and another moved to push a blaster into Padmé's back. They clapped binders on her wrists and pushed her forward a few steps. Behind her, they did similarly with Theo. When Padmé glanced back at Master Ti, she saw them closing in on her onto a floating stretcher and moving her in the opposite direction.

"Where're you taking her?" Padmé said, struck with sudden horror. The pressure at her back increased, and she stumbled forward again. "Where're you taking her?"

No clones answered her, and the last glimpse she had of Master Ti was of the clonetroopers closing in behind her still body.

They marched her and Theo up the Senate stairs, and, as they emerged handcuffed and with blasters to their backs, wide-eyed senators in disheveled robes watched them pass. Around them, the Senate Rotunda's hallways had been blasted as though explosions had torn through the walls. Palpatine had made it look as though she, Theo, and Master Ti had been responsible for some sort of terrorist attack.

When they reached the outside transport, clonetroopers forced them in to some type of army transport, and Padmé thought of her family as she watched the Senate complexes grow small and her chances of escape grow faint.

* * *

Back in the Senate office ventilation ducts, Anakin and Obi-Wan moved through stifling heat and clouds of grime as they approached Palpatine's office. They'd crawled through what seemed like half the pipes in the building, gone up a dozen maintenance turbolifts, and placed sleeping suggestions on at least five individuals to reach the room of highest security in the building. And now, with a vent letting in stripes of light just ahead, they'd arrived.

"Just ahead," Obi-Wan mouthed at Anakin. He'd pulled his holomap out of his robes, and the blinking light representing their location was nearly on top of Palpatine's reception chamber. Anakin could already feel the presence of the Sith. Around them, the temperature had seemed to dip, as though they'd taken a spill into a cooling car on a freighter.

"He's here," Anakin breathed, and if the ventilation duct walls didn't burn around him, he might have been surprised he didn't breathe clouds.

"I sense him, too," Obi-Wan said.

And the Sith sensed them. The tendrils of darkness, more poignant than ever, reached towards them and touched Anakin's consciousness. Anakin recoiled and strengthened his shields.

"Let's go," Obi-Wan said. "It's no use hiding any further."

They shuffled to the end of the duct, and Obi-Wan, bracing his feet on the vent, curled his muscles, and pushed. The vent shot away from them and off the duct, and, as Obi-Wan slid to the ground below, he caught the vent with the Force to keep it from crashing to the ground. Buoyed by the Force, it settled to the carpet with a subdued clang.

Anakin followed him from the duct, and his boots landed on the carpet of a familiar reception hall. How many times had the then-Chancellor Palpatine led him through the halls with one hand on his back? Over the fourteen years Palpatine had mentored him, Anakin had lost count.

A few paces before them, two of Palpatine's red-cloaked guards had noticed the Jedi's surprise entrance and were coming towards them. Anakin reached for the lightsaber on his belt, unhooked it, and watched each approaching step as he turned the metal cylinder in his hands. Anticipation built up inside his breastbone, mingled with fear of what lay beyond the cloaked guards.

"Careful," Obi-Wan cautioned.

The guardsmen twirled their force-pikes, and Anakin and Obi-Wan ignited their blades.

"Disable the door and the security system," Anakin told him as they moved far enough into the office that the security blast door could be closed behind them. "No one is getting out of this room."

Obi-Wan stabbed his lightsaber into a small panel hidden behind a vase, and heavy blast doors slid together with a terrific bang. A steady beeping sound filled the area. Obi-Wan lifted his hand up and snapped the ceiling alarm with the Force.

Force pikes whirled towards them, blue energy crackling, and Anakin met the pikes with his blade. The two guards had no connections to the Force, but their physical strength was considerable. Anakin could only hold the position for a few seconds, before releasing to block the next blow.

The guards swung right, so Anakin banked left, hoping for a clear spot to strike. But the guards reacted quickly, twisting one way and another like a feline in the air. Obi-Wan approached on their opposite side, drawing them away from each other. They'd be easier to dispense that way.

Anakin blocked another swing, and feinted an immediate counter-attack. The guard fell for the feint, but had a considerable recovery as Anakin swung at his defenseless side. He managed to catch the end of Anakin's blade, just managing to keep it from cutting through his shoulder. Though he had to take a slightly clumsy side step to regain his position, his strength didn't waver as Anakin pushed against him.

Across the room, Obi-Wan was driving the other guard towards the blast door that separated Palpatine's office. The guard whirled his force pike furiously, but the dips in his arms suggested that he was fading fast under Obi-Wan's barrage. He had an opening at his back.

Bunching his muscles, Anakin catapulted over his attacker and straight toward Obi-Wan's. Obi-Wan's opponent never saw him coming, or, if he did, he didn't have time to react. His decapitated head _thumped_ to the ground and rolled underneath the buckling body.

In a normal situation, Obi-Wan might have teased Anakin for taking more than his fair share, but none of that now. It was with a grim expression that Obi-Wan leaned over Anakin and halved the remaining guard. The smell of burnt flesh crawled up their nostrils.

It was too easy. Palpatine had let them through.

They both took a moment to pause, calming their breathing and allowing the light side of the Force to surround them. Anakin could feel the Dark Side circling just beyond the doors, a horrible mutation of the man Anakin had known. The galaxy's puppetmaster.

"Ready?" Obi-Wan murmured.

Anakin squared his shoulders. "Ready."

The blast doors opened, slowly, revealing the familiar office Anakin had spent so many hours inside, by Palpatine's right hand. It felt cold, as though they'd plunged into an icy lake.

"My commander just drooped off… a rather _interesting_ artifact," said the back of the chair. They could see his hand, and his spindly, skeleton-like fingers. They touched and caressed a familiar device—the slave chip disabling device, the same unique device Oomassa and Kitster had carried.

Anakin's breath stopped. _Padmé_. Master Ti and Theo.

The stool slowly pivoted, and Sidious' sickly Sith eyes greeted them. "Welcome, you're just in time. I've been expecting you, young Skywalker."


	10. Chapter 10

"Come in," Sidious beckoned, his sickly sweet voice pulling them forward and setting Anakin's neck hair on end.

"Emperor Palpatine," Obi-Wan said, his humming blade rising. His knuckles looked white on the hilt. "You haven't answered for your crimes against the Galactic Republic."

"I have every right to be here, _Master Jedi_." Palpatine's terse smile did little to contain the snarl underneath. "The Galaxy asked for _security._"

"The Senate was led into your trap," Obi-Wan said. "You've been playing both sides of the war." They approached his desk, blades angled towards the puppeteer of years of conflict. "Millions have died because of your manipulations."

"Death is a… necessary part of war, of power," Palpatine said, with a levity that might have been dismissive if not for the way his eyes pierced Anakin. Suddenly, something precise and deadly in the statement was a knife twisting in Anakin's side.

"Your apprentice, of all people, knows that."

Anakin's hands grew cold and stiff. Powerless to help his fallen comrades in battle, cursing the Council's decision to enter the war, believing that as peacekeepers they had no place fighting the Senate's war… He'd made peace with his duty to the Republic—hadn't he?

He couldn't move his grasp on lightsaber, his hand glued to the cold metal.

If Obi-Wan was confused by the statement, he didn't react. He pulled his blade into vertical attack position. "We're here to cast you from office and take control of the Senate."

"Anakin," Palpatine's voice said softly. "See how the Jedi yearn for control. They've become corrupted, a mere shadow of their former glory—"

"The Jedi uphold peace and democracy in the galaxy," Obi-Wan said firmly. "We protect and defend its citizens from wrongdoing."

Palpatine's head turned to look at the Jedi Master. "Do you?"

Obi-Wan's hesitation was brief, but his words were firm when he replied, "Your deeds were in the pursuit of selfish gain, not the defense of others. It's the way of the Sith."

"If crimes make a Sith, Master Kenobi," Palpatine said softly, "look no farther than your side."

The knife twisted further. Obi-Wan shifted.

"Anakin is a better Jedi than I could hope to be."

"And how well do you know your apprentice, Master Kenobi?"

"He's done nothing but what the Council has instructed him."

"Anakin," Palpatine called softly, and Anakin's head snapped towards him. His spindly fingers stroked the slave chip disabler. "You never told your Master?"

The Tusken bodies lay in the sand, still in the darkness and shadowed by the glowing embers. His mother's corpse felt stiff in his arms, wrapped in tent canvas and tied with leather Bantha straps.

Jedi younglings sprawled over the Temple marble, limbs twisted and faces on fire. The smell of burning flesh—

"I—"

"Strange," Palpatine said, "that you should confide in me."

Now, Anakin's limbs burned and heat stifled his face and neck. He didn't want to remember—didn't want to relive that day…

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, voice low.

"I—"

"Anakin, what's he talking about?"

"I—I can't—"

"Genocide," Palpatine said, yellow eyes on Obi-Wan's blue, and Anakin suddenly couldn't think past the bile in his throat. "One of the crimes you accuse me of. One of the crimes your apprentice is guilty of."

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan's voice was sharp now.

"I didn't—I couldn't—"

"Tell him how you killed every single one of them," Palpatine said. "Tell him how you murdered my unarmed apprentice, how you fear the Dark Side's hold on you, and how you're not that different from me in the end…"

Out of the corner of Anakin's eye, he could see Obi-Wan trying to meet his gaze. "Anakin, it isn't true."

A cackle rose in Palpatine's throat as the Sith stood from his chair. A silver hilt shot from seemingly nowhere to his curved nails. Arodium, electrum, and phrik alloy strips curled around the gleaming bronze polish, untarnished and unscratched. "The Jedi are in my way now, Anakin. It's time to pick a side."

"We—we can't talk about this right now," Obi-Wan's voice said, far away. "This is a mission we have to complete."

"They—they killed my mother," Anakin forced past the mounting horror in his mind. "I—I didn't have a choice…"

"You are not like the Jedi—corrupt and power-hungry. You seek justice and _peace_." Palpatine approached slowly, and Anakin and Obi-Wan gave him a wide berth. "The galaxy looked for my leadership, Anakin. Ask yourself then what is best for the people—what the people want."

"He's twisting his words," Obi-Wan said sharply. "Don't listen to him—"

Palpatine circled them slowly, his yellow irises sickly against his red sclera. "You have an incredible gift, my friend. To waste talent like that would be… unfortunate."

"Anakin, whatever you've done, the Sith are the source of evil and suffering in this galaxy." Obi-Wan's gaze was steady. "Palpatine cares little for people—only for his own gain."

"The world is not a place of good and evil," Palpatine whispered. "When have you ever met one of one side or another? Even Master Yoda succumbs to his demons, even Obi-Wan, and even you."

Doubt spread like a poisonous vine in his mind. It clogged all his brain's crevices, and his his thoughts grew cloudy and confused and _slow_. "You—you've _killed_ people. Killed Jedi."

"In order to create a safe space." Palpatine's smile was _affectionate_, almost like the ones he used to give Anakin when he was young. "We've all done things we find regrettable.

"I alone have unlimited power. I alone can help you keep your family safe. Your wife and children have separated, your twins on a distant planet. They will ever be in danger, because of the power that runs through their veins."

He _knew_. Somehow, the Sith knew Anakin's children were on Alderaan and his wife was only a little ways away at the Rotunda. His knowledge seemed to supersede all else; his power permeated everything…

"Anakin," the warning in Obi-Wan's voice shook Anakin's body to the core. "Don't listen to him—"

An invisible force hoisted Obi-Wan in the air, leaving his boots dangling, mouth agape, and hands scrambling for his throat. His extinguished lightsaber hilt clattered to the carpet.

"_Anakin_ needs to decide," Palpatine snarled to the suffocating Jedi, wrist flicking.

"No!" said Anakin, as Obi-Wan's body flew across the room and landed hard against the far wall. He crumpled with a loud thump, groaned, and was still.

Anakin whirled back to the Sith, pointing his blade at his neck. "Don't touch him!"

"You need to make up your mind, Skywalker," snarled Palpatine. "It's Sith or Jedi and nothing in between. Power beyond anything you could imagine or living under the suppression of the Jedi."

Obi-Wan's limbs had sprawled in awkward directions, just like the body in Anakin's nightmares. In the Force, Anakin could sense his master's mind shifting in and out of consciousness. It would take him a few minutes to rebound.

Palpatine's Sith eyes followed Anakin closely as they circled each other. He looked hungry, like he'd been fasting for dozens of years.

"You don't want peace," Anakin said. "You would do anything for power."

"_Power_," Palpatine said, impatience seeping through in the bite of the word, "is the currency of the galaxy. There are those who work and bleed for it, and those too foolish to seek it."

"Your conquest has killed millions. It's not justified."

"You and I are the same, Anakin," he said, softened again by the curl of a smile. "I am offering you safety, peace, and recognition. You have power within you unsurpassed in millenniums. I'm offering you the galaxy."

He saw himself standing in the sun on a balcony before legions of troops, as they shouldered their blasters in salutes. He saw a fleet of gigantic Star Destroyers in the clouds. He saw Padmé in expensive robes, a crest on her breast, and his children in bassinets of silk.

"It—it's not real."

But his mind turned as scenes flooded his mind—tangible, with the crispness of the galaxy Palpatine offered him.

Imperial officers in stark gray uniforms, eyes bulging and fingers white, clutched their necks as an invisible force brought them to their knees, and then clattering to the ship deck.

A girl in white clothing in a dark cell flattened herself against the wall, head ducked, and feet inward to protect herself from the advancing needle of the probe droid. He stood unmoving and watched her face drain of color and her ankles begin to sink. She was haunting—features so familiar yet the arrangement just off…

"_No_! No!" Pain jarred at his knees, and whatever was in his numb fingers tumbled to the carpet. He gripped his skull, willing, _needing_ the images to disappear. He had a job to do—he had a job—

"These visions you see," Palpatine's voice called. "Are your destiny. It's unavoidable."

"I—I can't—"

Wind whipped his long black cape as his gloved hand reached for a battered figure on a spire. At his wrist, where his hand should have been, a smooth amputation caused his face to contort. Emptiness sunk into his eyes—a hallowing desperation. _Come with me, my son._

The white-knuckled fingers snapped open, and in mounting horror, he watched the boy fall.

"A powerful Sith will you become. More powerful than any before you."

"No—no—"

"Listen to me, boy. You have an opportunity here to make a difference… a difference the Order was never able to accomplish."

"They're not real—they're not real. You—you're lying. Everything you say is a lie."

"But they are real," Palpatine whispered. "You know. All that power… it pulls on you, doesn't it?"

"No," Anakin said. "I'm not a monster—I wouldn't—"

Palpatine's voice hardened. "I lose patience, Skywalker. Make your decision."

He was finding it harder to draw breath—Palpatine's presence pushed on him—cold, suffocating. His numb fingers groped for his lightsaber, pulling it into the curl of his palm.

He focused on Obi-Wan's warmth, the brush of his Master's mind against him, and familiarity of the touch…

Bracing his shaky knees and steeling the sickening turning in his mind, he pushed against himself and rose. His thumb found the ignition button. He centered in on the office.

Palpatine's gaze hardened in the glow of the blue blade. "Don't tempt me, boy," he said, and suddenly there was a dangerous edge in his voice.

Anakin brought his other hand to the blade, moving the hilt into the familiar spot in his palm. He took a deep breath and allowed his shoulders to fall squarely.

There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony.

"I haven't wasted years to watch this happen," Sidious hissed. His nails curled around his lightsaber hilt.

There is no death, there is the Force.

"So be it."

With the _snap-hiss_ of pulsing red and an inhuman yell, Sidious twisted toward him and Anakin was forced to step back to meet his blade. The ends collided with a terrific crash and Anakin could not help the grunt that escaped his lips as he pushed against the Sith's falling weight.

The next exchanges were whirling blurs of color, so quick that Anakin wasn't conscious of how his arms leapt up to defend him and his boots clumsily stumbled away from dancing blows. He could be grateful for years of training burned into muscle memory, but more than that he was becoming increasingly conscious of the fact that he was losing control—or, perhaps, never had it in the first place.

Then, when he thought his concentration would break and a swing would slip past his defense, he heard a set of boots thundering toward then, and the _snap-hiss_ of another lightsaber.

Obi-Wan and Sidious' blades collided before Anakin's neck.

"Kenobi," Palpatine hissed. "Long has your utility expired. I shall take pleasure in your death."

Obi-Wan pushed back against Palpatine's strength, teeth clenched. They broke apart to breathe for a moment. "I'm afraid your time as this galaxy's perpetrator has come to an end. You have no more tricks up your sleeve."

"Oh," Palpatine said, cackling, as the three joined together once more. Feet turning in dance, blades crackling, energy sizzling. "But I do."

In a twirl of speed that lasted less than a second, he ducked under Obi-Wan's swing, turned his back to them, reversed his lightsaber grip, and thrust the point behind him.

Anakin didn't see it happen, but he felt it—explosive pain in his shoulder that matched the screaming of the Force around him. The blistering smell of burning flesh rose to his nostrils, and he heard a shattered yell.

"Anakin!"

He stumbled backwards, tripping over the carpet and landing heavily on his knees, then falling forward briefly to all fours as his arm gave out.

An exchange of blows erupted behind him, increasing in speed and power but retaining control. Through the even crashes, the thump of footwork grew harder and the occasional grunts or hisses become more frequent.

The desk collapsed behind him, and all the instruments and holopads Palpatine had lined up on the face slid down the sloped surface. They crashed on the carpet in tinkling shards.

A hiss of pain and a flash of lightening through his and Obi-Wan's bond meant his master had been scraped, but the clashes didn't slow. Obi-Wan's Soresu let off firm and steady pulses throughout the space that dampened the fiery lace of Dark energy.

Anakin bit down on his side of their bond, willing to keep the stabbing in his shoulder as far away from Obi-Wan's consciousness as possible. Perhaps, if they made it a little longer, Shaak Ti would be on her way—

Then he heard a heavy grunt, a lightsaber extinguish, and the thump of knees hitting the ground. The office fell into silence, and only the hum of a single blade penetrated the chill of silence.

"Skywalker," said Palpatine, and Anakin was forced to look up. Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan—

The Sith held his red blade under Obi-Wan's chin. Obi-Wan's hand clutched his extinguished blade. His eyes looked flinty. His chest expanded and contracted with heavy breath.

"This is your choice, Anakin."

"Anakin, don't give in—"

"Quiet!"

The pain bit Anakin shoulder as he breathlessly pushed himself off his hands. "Don't touch him."

Palpatine's lip curled. The lightsaber inched towards Obi-Wan's neck, and Obi-Wan's brow twitched.

"_Don't touch him_."

Through the bond, Anakin could feel Obi-Wan's mind whirring. The retreat was there, almost imperceptible, and Obi-Wan's fingers twitched. His eyes lingered on his lightsaber hilt laying few inches away.

It all happened at once. Anakin lit his lightsaber and leapt forward, and Obi-Wan rolled to the side.

Palpatine was prepared. His blade missed Obi-Wan's head, but the tip sunk into his stomach, burning a black mark in the beige tunic.

Anakin gasped. "_No_!"

He felt it like a vibroblade had been shoved into his own gut, dissolving everything around it and turning his insides into char that rose in his mouth.

Obi-Wan's body, mouth still open, crumpled at Palpatine's feet, and suddenly all Anakin could see was red. His blood burned, and the pain leaking from Obi-Wan's side of their bond fueled it.

His muscles burning, he gathered his lightsaber above his head and brought it down on the Sith lord.

Sidious met it with a snarl, and if not for the rage in Anakin's blood, he might not have been prepared for the simple whirlwind of action that followed. He hammered at Sidious, blow by blow, frustration and desperation growing with every parry.

"Good," Sidious chuckled. "_Good_."

Anakin gritted his teeth as he stumbled back against Palpatine's desk. When he retaliated wildly, Palpatine practically slapped the blade from his hand. Anakin's fingers chased after the hilt, barely evading the red blade's counter-swipe.

"Come, boy. Release your anger."

Heat rushed all the way up to his ears. His heart thundered in his throat. His shoulder screamed.

"Kill me, and all of this will be over."

The poison seeped into his ears like slow, inky sap, taking root in his mind and sending his head spiraling away. Pain pulsed through his bond with Obi-Wan.

"Come on, kill me, boy."

"Stop it."

"Kill me."

"Stop it, _stop_ it."

He broke away from Palpatine's reach, far enough that the Sith master couldn't reach him. There, Palpatine taunted him, "You don't know what you stand against. You don't know what power I have over you."

"You don't have power over me."

Palpatine smiled slowly. "Odd thing, attachment. It's as though another wears one's heart." His yellow eyes rose to meet Anakin's. "Perhaps that's why the Jedi forbade it."

Anakin concentrated on breathing—in, out. If Palpatine knew about the Tuskens and his mother's death and all of Anakin's struggles with the dark side, he also likely knew that Padmé and some others were breaking into the Senate Archives.

"First Master Kenobi, and now your lover."

"Where's Padmé?" he whispered. In, out.

Palpatine's fingers traced his lightsaber.

Dread spread its crippling branches through Anakin's mind. "Where is she?"

"Under my supervision."

Anakin could already see her broken body lying on the floor of the Senate Archives. "_Where is she_?"

Obi-Wan's let out a pained wheeze on the floor. Anakin's heart picked up, shoulder burning.

"Do you know what this is?"

Palpatine was holding something in his hand—the slave chip deactivator that had been Padmé's, which she'd brought to the Senate Archives…

"Interesting, this is," he said. "It was meant to be the chainbreaker of the galaxy. But the opposite can also be said…"

His thumb inched towards the activator. He pressed it, and the deactivator lit blue.

Anakin felt new warmth spread underneath his skin on his collarbone, where his slave chip had been placed so long ago. Deactivated but never removed, betraying him now in his moment of need. And like a Bantha hide falling from its skin in a rush of air, he felt the little remaining power he held over Palpatine slip away. He felt bare.

Palpatine smiled.

_Don't try to run_, his mother had told him once when he was a boy, and he could never forget the way her eyes went eyes wide and serious and desperate for him to understand the importance of it all_. They're merciless—they won't hesitate to hurt you. _Anakin had seen what happened when a slave disobeyed a master—the smell of rotting limbs in the desert heat had been enough to burn the memory into his mind forever.

He wanted to claw it out.

"I don't care what you do to me," he whispered, "but if you kill her or my children—"

"What will you do, Anakin?"

Desperate, Anakin threw himself at the Sith one last time. He got a boot in his chest for effort, knocking out all the air in his lungs, and when his burning shoulder failed to bring his lightsaber up for a complete strike, Palpatine's red blade scotched his forearm in reply.

No, no—this couldn't be how it all ended—nothing was supposed to happen this way—

If Palpatine won, Padmé and Obi-Wan would die and the Alliance would crumple and their allies executed and his children would be captured by the Sith—

"You can't touch her, you can't—"

"Everything dies, Anakin Skywalker. Even the stars burn out."

"No, no…"

"You're a slave, Anakin," Palpatine said. "To your lover, to attachment, to your Master. To me. To the Dark."

Anakin struggled to regulate his breathing through the heat of the pain. In, out. His chest burned.

"Surrender yourself to me. Your loved ones will live. Your children will be spared. All I ask is that you serve me."

Padmé would live, Obi-Wan could get medical help. His children would be safe and have everything in the galaxy.

"Anakin, no," came his master's weak voice.

But his muscles were already creaking and his shoulder already screaming as he slowly bent to the ground. His muscles gave out an inch from the carpet, so his knee his the ground with a heavy _thud. _The office swayed.

Palpatine's lips stretched across his teeth. "Good," he breathed. "Only through me can you achieve the power to save the ones you love."

Palpatine turned the chip deactivator in his hand. Over and over. Anakin chest burned. One wrong move and it could deactivate, blowing the office to bits—

Anakin stilled. His breathing might have stopped. He became suddenly conscious of the fact that his lightsaber hilt rested cool in his hand, and that it would only take a flex of his muscle to ignite it inside of him and detonate the slave chip.

"At last," Palpatine cackled. "You are mine."

His _self_—his _body_—and the choice of life or death was all he had left of his own…

His fingers curled around the hilt. Lingered over the ignition button.

"_Anakin_," whispered Obi-Wan.

He thrust his blade into the spot under his collarbone.

The pain burst like heat throughout him, so blinding and electrifying that it was if he was ripped from the inside out. Someone screamed as glass burst around them and the ground shook like an earthquake.

Through the cloud of Anakin's mind, the glass and wind whipped around him, until he wasn't sure what was real and what was delirium. Palpatine stood frozen, his mouth and eyes in into a gruesome twist—horrified and shocked and furious all at once. A vision? A dream?

Anakin had dared resist him—had dared to use his last grain of autonomy to defy him. He summoned the last remaining grains of strength in his limbs and resolve in his mind to swing at Palpatine's head.

As the light left his eyes, he heard Palpatine gurgle and felt his hilt leave his limp fingers. Then, the ground, as soft as pillows and as dark as the winter, met him.


	11. Chapter 11

When he became conscious of his body, Anakin became aware through his haze of pain that ash was falling from above him. Gentle, soft, fluttering pieces that could have been snow.

The world hadn't exploded around him—the chip hadn't deactivated. Somehow, he was alive.

Any relief he might have felt dissolved into the crippling firestorm of pain in his body, and the office rocked back and forth as he braced his shaking arms beneath him and clawed his way to where Obi-Wan's limp form lay.

He couldn't tell whether the Jedi breathed or not, or whether pulse beat in his neck, but he set his hands on the site of the burn in Obi-Wan's tunic, trembling uncontrollably, and reached through the remaining connection to the Force he had.

Light surged in his mind, mixed with emotion and pain and raw power so strong it sent him reeling. He was only able to hold on for a few moments, willing the healing power to enter Obi-Wan's body, before spots danced before his eyes and all that remained of his consciousness was a single thin strand of the Force amidst the swirling vortex.

He didn't remember anything else.

* * *

"Skywalker. _Skywalker_. Focus on me—"

Gravity lurched.

"Anakin, concentrate—"

Surgical uniforms and the gleam of metal.

"Ani, please—"

Pain circled him like birds of prey ripping his flesh.

"Ani—_Anakin_—"

White hospital walls greeted him, and a white ceiling and white sheets.

"Wha—?"

The pain in his shoulder returned immediately. Ignoring the prickly waves that shot through his nerves, he shifted his arm to peer at the tubes attached to him, which seemed to extend below his hospital gown, around his nose, and through an IV line. He had two large patches on his chest—one on his shoulder and another close beside it under his breastbone.

"It's about time," said a familiar voice. Theo sat in a chair just behind him, making adjustments with what seemed to be the slave chip device. He put it aside on a nearby table and leaned forward, elbows on knees.

"W—" Anakin's voice grinded to a halt, his throat sandpaper dry. "Wa—ter."

Theo pushed a glass into his hands. "Be careful with that, don't drink too much."

He choked on the liquid at first, and might have spluttered if Theo hadn't been guiding his intake.

"You've been asleep almost a week," Theo told him. "I don't think you remember."

Anakin shook his head.

"You and Obi-Wan led the mission to Palpatine's Office. Barely made it out—your heart stopped a couple of times."

"Obi-Wan?"

"He made it." Theo's smile was strained. "No one's quite sure how you did it."

Did what?

"You healed a mortal wound with the Force."

The look Anakin gave him must have been confused, because Theo added, "Master Yoda informs us that it's not a usual ability. But the Force works in mysterious ways."

It couldn't be—what Theo was implying— "Obi-Wan's safe?"

"He's in recovery right now," Theo told him. "Doing well."

Anakin wasn't sure how that could be possible, but he was having a hard time thinking with the room tilting around him.

"Padmé?"

"Uninjured."

"Children?"

"Still on Alderaan under Breha's care."

They were safe. The images of them in pain weren't real. They never would be—

"Padmé's safe?"

"Yes."

Anakin breathed out, relaxing against the pillow under his neck. His mind was already drifting to far off places… he didn't think he had the energy to ask about Palptine, or the Senate, or the clones…

"Rest for a little while," a voice told him, and Anakin was gone.

* * *

Then, he was in a room of blue, as metal hand changed the bandage on his shoulder.

"Anakin…"

Padmé moved into view, wispy curls circling her head.

"Padmé…" His entire body ached as though he'd been trampled by rancor, but he couldn't help the small smile creeping along his cheeks. Her hand found his. He didn't think he'd ever been so happy to see someone in his life.

"How're you feeling?"

"'M fine," he croaked.

Padmé's small smile hid more than it revealed, but the hand that threaded through his hand was gentle. She was so beautiful—

"I love you so much."

He could barely lift his head to meet her kiss, but when she sat back again, her expression relaxed. The medical droid put the final touches on his shoulder bandages and wheeled out of the room, leaving the couple alone.

"What… happened? Palpatine…?"

"He's dead."

His neck strained as he struggled to straighten. She helped adjust the pillow under his head. "What?"

"Decapitated. You don't remember?"

Palpatine's gurgle. A burst of light and debris. "I—thought it was a dream…"

"The whole room had exploded by the time Mon arrived," she said, watching him carefully. "You and Obi-Wan were the only ones still breathing. There was a clear radius of debris around your bodies."

Anakin didn't remember.

"Not even Yoda could explain it."

He couldn't believe—could it really be true? "Palpatine's dead?"

She nodded. "He's gone for good."

A breath escaped his lungs that didn't know he'd been holding, lightening his shoulders and unknotting his stomach. "Are we sure?"

"We packed his body away—there'll be a burial away from public eye."

"We're—we're safe?"

She nodded, threading her hand through his.

He didn't want to say anything for a long time, just bathe in the peace that had settled on his mind. "I—I can't believe…"

"I know," she said.

"The children…"

She nodded.

The second long breath was more relieving than the first, and Padmé's smile softened. "We're safe."

"Safe."

She nodded again. "Mothma's taken control over the Senate—she's gathered a Senate meeting and they're going to vote on the next path of action."

Her fingers ran through his hair. "It looks promising—it seems that more senators have been bullied than we expected, and though it'll take a few months and a lot of evidence for the Senate majority to agree to our terms, we're on our way. We've already been able to get Imperial troops to release all political prisoners, Bail included."

Her expression held more hope than he'd seen in months. "And the clones?" he asked.

"Mothma reached control in time for minimal damage, but they did—" She stopped abruptly, and turned her head from him. She was about to tell him something painful—her fingers were fidgeting. "I should tell you… Shaak Ti didn't make it."

It didn't register at first, as if his mind couldn't digest it. Perhaps he wasn't in the right mental state to understand, or emotional state to register the emotions he felt. Instead, he just felt _blank_.

"I'm sorry," she said. "The Order needed her—there're so few Masters left."

He didn't say anything.

"We tried to stop them, but they'd shot her before we could assume command. Theo's been working on a few more slave chip device disablers. He was pretty upset."

Anakin watched her fingers play with the hem of her sleeve.

She said finally, "I suppose victories can't come without a cost."

"I guess so," he replied softly.

He felt nauseous, so she stayed by his side.

* * *

A few hours later, the hospital room door slid open with a soft hiss, and Anakin felt his mind slip into its familiar bond with the presence. Obi-Wan looked healthy, if a bit worn and stiff in loose Jedi robes. His legs were strong as he walked to Anakin's bed.

"Anakin."

"Obi-Wan…" The blade had gone right into his stomach—

"How do you feel?"

How could he be asking that, when it was Obi-Wan who almost died? "Fine."

Obi-Wan's smile was small. "It's good to see you up," he said, finally, lowering himself into a nearby chair. There were flecks of gray in his hair, mixed in with the auburn. "I don't know how you did it. No Jedi has mended a mortal wound in thousands of years, only the greatest healers."

Anakin somehow felt that he should be proud, or fulfilled, or powerful, but somehow he didn't want to. Somehow, the silence of the Dark Side was enough.

"I don't really remember," he murmured.

Obi-Wan's smile turned on one side. "I don't, either."

He didn't know if he _wanted_ to, anyway. He didn't think he did.

"Shaak Ti…?"

Obi-Wan looked down. "There'll be a private burial," he said softly.

It seemed like a waste to Anakin, like it just wasn't enough, or maybe it just wasn't worth it?

No. No, it had to be worth it. Palpatine was dead and they'd saved countless other lives—

"She knew what her sacrifice would mean," Obi-Wan murmured. "She recognized the importance of our mission."

"I expected it'd feel different," he admitted eventually.

"What would?"

"Now that the Sith are gone."

"Me too," Obi-Wan said, and Anakin knew they were both thinking of that cold day when their minds had fractured with thousands of Jedi deaths. It was strange—it'd seemed like such a long time ago after months of nightmares and cold sweats.

And perhaps Obi-Wan understood that, after everything Palpatine had said in the office…

"Obi-Wan… about what Palpatine told you about me…"

"You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to."

"It's true. It was all true, what Palpatine said about me. When my mother died, I—"

"Anakin—"

"No," he said, though his hands shook. "Let me finish. I've always struggled with the Dark Side. I'm afraid of what it does to me. For a while, I didn't want to get involved again because I was afraid of the temptation.

"I couldn't—I understand what is expected of me. For a long time when the Jedi thought I was the Chosen One, I thought I was expected to be perfect, but I was angry all the time and afraid of my potential. I resented your training, and was disrespectful of the Jedi Order."

"Anakin, you deserve to be here," Obi-Wan told him. "You've earned your place beyond all that's been expected of you—"

Anakin exhaled softly. "You taught me what I need to strive for, Obi-Wan," he said quietly. "I want to thank you for that."

"I know the kind of Jedi you are," Obi-Wan said. "Whatever is in your past, you have my faith, and my trust."

Anakin could only reply a quiet, "Thank you," and Obi-Wan's smile was all he needed in return.

Obi-Wan shifted, standing to leave the rom. "Your slave chip," he said as he paused by the door. "It burnt up. You don't have to worry about it bothering you again."

Anakin touched the wound under his collarbone where smooth skin met puckered skin, and it didn't burn so much any more. He watched the Jedi Master leave.

* * *

Naboo was particularly beautiful in the springtime, awash with flower fragrance and the shadow of the purple mountains over the water. Anakin leaned against the balcony outside the Naberrie house with a hologram of Obi-Wan on his palm.

"There was another group hiding on Kashyyyk," Obi-Wan informed him, his hands tucked in his sleeves. "A Jedi and two Padawans."

Anakin could see the Jedi Temple under construction in the background, funded with the Senate's help. The pillars were nowhere near finished, as scaffolding still obscured their skeletons, but the black from the fire had been scrubbed from the walls. "That's good."

"If we're lucky, they won't be the last. Master Yoda seems to think there're more still out there."

The Jedi refugees usually returned shell-shocked and worn, not unlike where Anakin and Padmé had come from. Those long weeks on Tatooine were ever poignant in his mind, burning like the twin suns. Setting, perhaps.

"When will we be expecting you?"

Anakin fingered the chrono on the comlink. Back on Coruscant, Theo was taking the final steps of the clone chip project, and Obi-Wan needed help with the new arrivals. "Leaving in a little less than five hours."

Obi-Wan's smile was gentle. "I look forward to it."

"Me too," he said, and he meant it. The time spent with the Naberries and the twins was needed, especially for Padmé, but Anakin itched to be back on Coruscant with the reconstruction efforts.

"Greet Padmé's family for me."

"I will. Meet you at the Temple."

As the Jedi Master winked out, he heard soft footsteps behind him. Padmé approached with a twin in each arm, and Anakin could spot her family through the cracked double glass doors behind them, laughing and putting together the final touches on the meal.

"Obi-Wan?" Padmé asked him, as Anakin relieved her of baby Leia.

He nodded. Leia grabbed at his finger and smiled a toothless smile. In Padmé's arms, Luke slept quietly, wisps of blond hair curling at his crown as his belly rose and fell softly.

"He's ready for us?"

"They found another group. Three of them."

"And they're returning to Coruscant?"

He nodded.

Coruscant was waiting for Padmé as well. The Senate had held her position as Naboo's senator, and Bail Organa and Mon Mothma waited for her return.

"Are you ready to return?" Anakin asked her, though he saw how she continued to follow on her datapad even when her family insisted they rest on their leave period.

"If you are."

By the Naboo lake, the breeze stilled, and replacing the scent of flowers was the fruit in Padmé's shampoo. Luke stirred, a small yawn on his lips. Leia squeezed his finger.

Anakin threaded his arm through hers. "I am."

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews/kudos are loved! Come visit me on tumblr [@sphinxscribe](https://sphinxscribe.tumblr.com).


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